


sin city with the devil

by mallory



Category: The Hangover (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Gender-neutral Reader, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Other, Past Relationship(s), Reader-Insert, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-07-08 09:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15927380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallory/pseuds/mallory
Summary: Two days before Doug’s wedding, you and your friends spend the night in Vegas to celebrate. Problem is: you and Phil separated three months ago from a tumultuous marriage. It gets worse: you wake up in the morning with little to no memory of last night and find out your best friend’s missing. And hell, is it messy: you have to retrace your steps in order to find Doug in time for his wedding, all the while struggling to avoid Phil and his desire to reconcile.





	1. phil wenneck is a jackass

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What Happened in Vegas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1869270) by [irishgirl321](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishgirl321/pseuds/irishgirl321). 



> —because I obsessed over their fic so much I started imagining my own story.
> 
> Basically a rewrite with the added character of the Reader and their own backstory with Phil (so it’s not completely self-indulgent). Initially going to be a 10k fic of key scenes between them but decided to make the story read cohesively as a whole and wrote it close to the source. I transcribed most of the film so you don’t need to remember or have seen the movie to follow along. But if nothing else, this was a fun writing exercise.
> 
> Unbeta’d.
> 
> Edited: 25/12/18

Phil slides on his aviators as he ambles down the steps of the middle school with his satchel across his body and overnight bag in hand.

A chubby boy approaches. “Hey, Mister Wenneck, I was—”

“It’s the weekend, Budnick, I don’t know you; you do not exist.” He stops short at the silver Mercedes convertible parked up front and grins. “Shit.”

In the driver’s seat, Doug laughs.

“Nice car.”

“Yeah.”

He flings his overnight bag into the back, and Doug lunges for it. “I’m driving.”

“Whoa, no chance, bud— _Don’t_ step”—Phil hauls himself onto the side of the car and drops onto the leather seat—“God, watch the leath—”

Phil gestures to the road. “Would you shut up and drive before these nerds ask me another question.”

“Animal,” Doug mutters, starting the car.

Phil scans his surroundings, notices someone in the passenger seat and leans forward to get a look at the scruffy guy. “Who’s this?”

“It’s Alan. Tracy’s brother.”

“I met you, like, four times,” Alan says.

“Oh yeah.” Phil sits back. “How you doing, man?”

Phil has been looking forward to tonight since Doug announced his engagement. These last three months have been brutal, and he just wants to let go for one night where he doesn’t have to come home to a bleak apartment and be reminded of everything his life isn’t anymore. Because these idiots don’t think to look that the Griffith Observatory doesn’t charge students anymore, he’s flush with cash, and aching for something harder than the beer he grabbed from his empty fridge this morning.

The streets turn residential, and soon after they cruise into an upper-middle class neighbourhood lined with nice houses, neat gardens and shiny cars in driveways. They stop in front of Stu’s place, and Doug turns the engine off. “Phil, would you get him?”

Phil leans out of the car and cups his hands around his mouth. “Paging Doctor Faggot!” He can see the back heads of Stu and his nightmare of a girlfriend Melissa through their living room but neither move.

“Man, come on.” Doug laughs. “He lives with these people.”

“Doctor Faggot!”

Like he was saying. Ever since he heard his buddy’s getting married, he’s been looking forward to this night. A night with his boys. No responsibilities, no drama, and—most importantly—no you.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You hear the honking from a street away and start to make your way outside. You expect to see Doug’s Prius pull up in front of your new place, but instead, a sleek, topless Mercedes glides to a stop in front of you. You pull down your sunglasses, and all four pair of eyes watch as you whistle.

A night in Vegas with your friends? This is the way to go.

“Sweet ride. Who’d you fuck to get it?”

Doug snorts. “Alan’s dad Sid let me borrow it for the weekend.”

The Garners are fucking loaded. You’ve only been to their place once with Doug to pick up Tracy, but their estate is unreal. They’re either from old money or their family business is in some shady but lucrative shit.

Alan calls your name like an excited two-year-old seeing his favourite relative for the first time in a month—long enough to miss but not enough that he’s forgotten who you are.

“Hey, bud.” You smile, holding up your hand for a perfunctory high-five. He’s funny when he’s not being an odd fucker.

“Doug, what the fuck?” Phil whines as you throw your things into the trunk of the car. Everything that comes out of his mouth sounds whiny to you. He’s like a toddler, if they could drink beer and construct full sentences such as ‘I’m hungry,’ ‘Who the fuck are you? Get away,’ or ‘I just shit my pants.’

“I thought it was obvious [Name] was coming,” Doug says. “Hey-hey—watch the leather! Seriously, guys!”

You drop to the seat between Phil and Stu as the former mutters, “Thought you needed a dick to be invited.”

“Don’t worry”—you shoot him an innocent smile—“you’re enough of a dick for the both of us.”

He rolls his eyes as you settle in, and throws an arm out behind you. There’s nowhere else to go, though; you’re practically sitting on the two guys.

It’s a known fact to everyone and their mother that Philip Wenneck is a jackass and you hate him.

Or at least it is in your close circle of friends—which happens to also include Phil because your best friend is fond of the guy for reasons unbeknownst to you, and you have no autocratic control over your group dynamic.

(That would be grand, though. At best, Phil would be oust; at worst, he’d be your bitch.)

So, because of said best friend and his last nights as a free man, you’ve decided to set aside your feelings about Phil and make sure Doug has the best time. If Phil makes this trip easier for you by ignoring you the entire time, you’ll be more than fine with that.

The wind whips your face as the car cruises off.

You turn your attention to the rest of the occupants in the car. “So Doug, Tracy called me last night.”

Stu makes a strangled noise you think is supposed to sound empathetic. “Did she hire you to spy on Doug?”

“Is that what Melissa does to you?”

Phil snorts, pulling out a case of beer at his feet. It’s no secret he hates Stu’s girlfriend with every fibre of his being. She may even surpasses his hatred of you. Even with everything going on between you and Phil right now, there have been moments where you and he were civil and more rarely when you were almost—dare you say it—friendly. But Medusa? He outright can’t stand her.

You refuse the beer he offers you and correct Stu. “Actually, Tracy told me to remember to bring condoms.”

(You leave out the part about her saying it’s so you and Phil can ream out the sexual tension between the two of you before her wedding. You love her, but she must be on something. There’s nothing sexual about the tension between you and Wenneck. Fucking fuck no.)

Alan bursts out into a cackle, sounding almost hyena-like. “Classic!”

You catch Doug’s eye in the rearview mirror and both share a slightly bewildered, mostly amused look.

Phil shakes with silent laughter against you.

“But speaking of short leashes,” you continue after a pregnant pause, “does the evil witch know I’m coming along?” For some reason Stu’s hypocritical ball and chain is suffocatingly paranoid you’ll seduce Stu away from her or some shit, and gives you the stink eye whenever you’re within a two feet radius of him. If you attempt to _talk_ to him? Forget about it. But whatever, you like that she’s intimidated of you.

Stu grimaces. “I’m sitting here and talking to you right now; what do you think?”

You grin and grab his bottle for a sip.

You’re enjoying the sunlight and breeze as you speed down the highway, when Alan heaves himself onto his feet and starts hollering his excitement for Vegas. It’s not until the little girl in the lane over flips him off does he settles down.

“Come on,” Phil whines, “just ’til Barstow. Everybody’s passing us!”

“Absolutely not!” Doug says for what feels like the tenth time. “I promised Sid. I will be the only one driving this car. Besides, you’re drinking.”

“Oh, what are you, a cop now? You know I drive great when I’m drunk.”

“That’s true,” Stu says. “Don’t forget, Phil was always our designated drunk driver.”

“Yeah,” Doug says on a chuckle. “You wanna explain it to them, Alan?”

Phil rubs his neck, jabbing you with his elbow.

“Guys,” Alan says, “my dad loves this car more than he loves me, so yeah.”

“Ah, whatever,” Phil retorts. “Look, I dropped everything so I could go with you guys to Vegas—you know how difficult that was?”

You roll your eyes. What a fucking Drama Douche. Phil hates his life.

“That’s really sweet, Phil,” Alan coos.

“Yeah,” Doug says, sounding not one bit convinced.

“Dude,” Phil says, “I was being sarcastic; I fuckin’ hate my life—I may never go back… I might just stay in Vegas.”

“Here we go,” Doug sings, as if this is a conversation they’ve had before.

“You know what, Doug? You should enjoy yourself because come Sunday you’re gonna start dying”—his gesturing arm nudges you repeatedly—“just a _little_ bit… every day.” He throws a not-subtle-at-all pointed look at you, which you return with a seething glare.

God, he’s such an ass.

Okay, fine—yes. You were married to Phil. A two-year nightmare that you want to forget ever happened.

“Am I all right over there, Alan?” Doug asks.

“Yeah, you’re good.”

Doug eases the car to the right and swerves a sharp left to avoid an oncoming truck that blares its horns. The three of you in back crash into each other, beer sloshing out, as the car zigzags across two lanes.

“Oh my _god_!” Stu shouts.

“I know what my heart tastes like,” you choke out.

Phil and Alan are cackling in delight.

“That was awesome!” Alan cries.

“That was _not_ awesome!” Doug says. “What’s wrong with you?!”

“That was insane,” Stu says, “we almost just _died_.”

“You should have seen your face!” Alan shouts. “Ha! _Classic_.”

“That’s funny,” Phil says in a chortle.

“It’s not funny.” There’s a pout in Doug’s voice.

You snatch the beer from Phil’s hand and chug the rest of it. You are _not_ drunk enough for this.

You make them stop at the next gas station ’cause you need to pee after that near death experience. The Mercedes barely rolls to a stop when you scramble over Phil and yell over your shoulder for a box of Ding Dongs.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Phil grabs a box of Ding Dongs on his way to the cash register and gets in line beside Doug. “What’s the deal, man?”

“What?”

He gestures in the vague direction of the bathroom where you ran off to, and Doug sighs.

“[Name] reassured me this will not be a problem. You’re both mature adults who can act like the friends you used to be.”

Phil doesn’t know what the fuck you were on when you promised Doug that. He can’t even make a dirty joke anymore without a tongue-lashing.

~~But that mouth of yours… Damn.~~

(In any case, Doug’s answer isn’t what Phil was hinting for, but now he’s too gun-shy to try again.)

“Fine by me.” He tears into the packet of crisps.

(Don’t get him wrong—he’s still irritated that you’re coming along to Vegas, but at least now he has a chance of attempting _some_ kind of reconciliation with you. During the few times he’s seen you since you moved out three months ago, every interaction between the two of you has been fused with thinly-veiled animosity. He can’t help the snide comments sometimes, it’s like a knee-jerk reaction to being close enough to you but not being able to touch you like he used to.

(Things used to be good. You fought from time to time, but that’s normal. Maybe the white flag over this trip can shed some light for him on what the fuck exactly happened in your marriage that’s lead to this.)

The line moves, and Phil looks out at Alan heckling an old man by the car. “He’s actually kinda funny.”

“Yeah, he means well,” Doug says fondly.

“Is he all there? Like, mentally?”

“I think so. He’s just an odd guy. You know, he’s kinda weird.”

“I mean, should we be worried?”

“No.”

“All right.”

“No. Tracy did mention that we shouldn’t let him gamble. Or drink too much.”

They move up and place their items on the countertop. “Jesus, he’s like a gremlin. Comes with instructions and shit.”

Stu places his item down with theirs. “And one water.”

“All good with Melissa?” Doug asks.

“Oh yeah! Told her we’re two hours outside of wine country and she bought it.”

Phil drops his head at this bullshit and turns around. “Don’t you think it’s strange that… you’ve been in a relationship for three years and you still have to lie about goin’ to Vegas?”

“Yeah, I do. But trust me, it’s not worth the fight.”

“Oh! So, _you_ can’t go to Vegas, but… she can fuck a bellhop on a Carnival Cruise Line?”

Doug hits his arm with a frown. “Hey.”

“Okay,” Stu says. “First of all, he was a bar _tender_. And she was wasted. Aand if you _must_ know, he didn't even cum inside her.”

Stu’s a little too self-assured for his liking so Phil gets in his face. “And you believe that?” He turns back to the checkout lady with a skeptical smirk as you return with the bathroom key.

“Uhh, _yeah_ , I do believe that because she’s grossed out by semen.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but then the words register.

He can never unhear that.

“What the fuck did I just walk into,” you say.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

“It says we should work in teams,” Alan reads from his book. “Who wants to be my spotter?”

“I don’t think you should be doing too much gambling tonight, Alan,” Doug says.

“Gambling? Who said anything about gambling? It’s not gambling when you know you’re gonna win.”

Drumming your fingers against the back of Doug’s seat, you hold out your other hand. “Let me see it. _The World’s Greatest Blackjack Book_.” You flip to his bookmarked pages, skimming the text.

“Counting cards is a foolproof system,” Alan continues.

“It’s also _illegal_ ,” Stu says.

“It’s not illegal; it’s frowned upon, like… masturbating on an airplane.”

“Oh—ew.” You throw the book and it lands on the dashboard as Doug snickers. You wipe your hands on your pants.

Phil chuckles breathlessly as he says, “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal too.”

“Yeah,” Alan says, “maybe after 9/11 when everybody got so sensitive.” An awkward pause. “Thanks a lot Bin Laden.”

“Either way,” Doug says, “you gotta be super smart to count cards, buddy, okay?”

“Oh really?”

“It’s not easy.”

“Okay, well—maybe you should tell that to Rain Man because he practically bankrupted a casino, and he was a r’tard.”

“What?” Stu asks.

“He was a r’tard.”

“ _Re_ tard,” Doug says.

You feel more than hear Phil’s chuckle against your shoulder, and you resist the urge to shift closer to Stu.

Not long after, you crash from your sugar high, and the next thing you know, you’re being gently prodded awake. Phil murmurs your name, his voice somehow sounding like it’s coming from both above and below you.

“Hmm?” You open bleary eyes and blink against the bright lights of the hotel you’re pulling up to.

“We’re here.”

There’s a kink in your neck. Your head must’ve shifted onto his shoulder in your sleep. “I’m up.” You sigh and straighten.

As soon as the car pauses in front of the entrance, he smiles at you, hops out and helps you out too, even offering to grab your bags for you.

It’s weirdly sweet of him, but you accept his hand without question.

It’s not until halfway to the entrance that a super hot guy walks by and grins at you, and you crane your neck around to smile back, when behind you Stu gestures to your forehead. Frowning, you peel off the price sticker from your—fucking _shithead_!

You growl as Phil’s laugh carries from where he’s entering through the automatic doors, his and your bags over his shoulders.

Beside you, Doug winces, grips your elbow and says your name in an attempt mollify you, but you slap him away and charge after Phil.

“Fuck you, Wenneck!” you shout.


	2. the wolf pack

As you reach the concierge desk, you yank Phil’s hand out of your hair and push away the arm he tries to put you into a headlock with. All the while, the woman greets your group with an unfazed smile, and Stu discloses a reservation under Doctor Price.

“Doctor Price?” Phil leans against the reception desk counter. “Stu, you’re a dentist, okay? Don’t try and get fancy.”

“It’s not fancy if it’s true.”

Phil turns to the woman, whose name tag reads Lisa. “He’s a dentist. Don’t get too excited. And if, uh… someone has a heart attack, you should still call 911.”

You roll your eyes. Trust Phil to flirt with a pretty face. You’d flick him if he wouldn’t interpret your reaction as jealousy—which he would and it is _not_.

On your other side, Alan turns on his own charm.

(You’d feel sorry for Lisa if it isn’t for the fact that _you’re_ the one who has to sleep in the same suite as him. A part of you is worried he’ll pull some creepy serial killer shit and you’ll wake up to him staring down at you.)

He proceeds to make her uncomfortable as he asks about beeper signal and payphones. She should win Employee of the Month for how she handles Alan and returns to the reservation without a hitch. “So I have you in a three-bedroom suite on the twelfth floor—is that okay?”

“It sounds perfect,” Doug says.

Phil leans forward. “ _Actually_ , I was wondering if you had any villas available.”

You snort with a, “When did you start shitting money?” at the same time Stu says, “Phil, we’re not even gonna be in the room.”

“It’s unnecessary,” Doug says.

“It’s no big deal,” Stu adds. “We can share beds. It’s one night.”

“Uh,” Alan pipes up, “if we’re sharing beds, I’m bunking with Phil. You good with that?”

“No, I’m not good with that.” Dismay drips from Phil’s words, and you lean over the desk to share a chuckle with Doug. “Guys, we are not _sharing_ beds. What are we, twelve years old? Lisa, I apologise. How much is the villa?”

“Well, we have one villa available, and it’s forty-two hundred for the night.”

“Is it awesome?” Alan asks.

“It’s pretty awesome.”

“We’ll take it.” Phil gestures to Stu. “Give her your credit card.”

“I can’t give her my credit card.”

“We’ll split it,” Doug says, reaching for his wallet.

Phil leans over, blocking your view. “Are you crazy? No—this is on us.”

“You don’t get it,” Stu says. “Melissa checks my statements.”

“We just need a credit card on file,” Lisa says. “We won’t charge you until check out, so you can figure it out then.”

“Perfect!” Phil says. “That’s perfect—thank you, Lisa. And we’ll deal with it tomorrow, come on.”

“Fine.” Stu pulls out his wallet.

“Can I ask you another question?” Alan asks.

A crack in her cool façade in the form of a brow crease. “Sure.”

You inhale and turn to face him, your back brushing against Phil’s arm.

“You probably get this a lot. This isn’t the real Caesar’s Palace, is it?”

Her gaze strays to you. “What do you mean?”

He stutters, gaze drifting to you as you lift your brows, the corners of your mouth twitching. “Did Caesar live here?”

“Um—no.”

You bite your lip to keep in your laugh.

“I didn’t think so.” His eyes roam the grand ceiling, and you lean over to grip his shoulder.

“All right, buddy,” you say. “Let’s go.”

You all head toward the elevator bank with your bags, and the ride up sizzles with anticipation for the night ahead. Stu opens the door to the villa, and you break off in different directions around the large suite, sounds of awe spilling from your gaping mouths.

Shit, this place is classy. You skim a hand along the grand piano by the couches. There’s a fucking hot tub inside the villa. _Inside_. Is there time for a quick dip? Before you can decide (or strip to your underwear) a squabble between Stu and Alan over at the bar brings the rest of you over.

“Stu,” Phil says. “What the fuck?” The both of you step up to the island sink.

As Stu goes on a tangent about the pressure sensitive plate with a thirty-second timer and the inflated cost of the almonds, Phil inspects the little jar as you search the area and find a glass relatively the same size to fill up with water.

“Stu, relax.”

“Phil,” Stu says. “Melissa is like a forensic accountant. Okay? She scours my savings—if you want nuts, I suggest you put your own credit card down.”

You hand the glass to Phil, who weighs the two.

“Watch this.” He sets the glass of water in the almond’s place.

A little trick you taught him during your honeymoon.

“Problem solved. Alan”—he decisively places the jar in front of him—“enjoy your almonds.”

“I don’t want ’em.” He aims a deadpan look at the both of you. “You’ve ruined it.”

Snorting, you push from the counter. “Whatever.” Phil’s ass blocks your way toward the bedrooms as he bends over the mini fridge so you go the long way around, slapping Doug on the back as you pass by.

“All right!” Phil cracks open a beer. “Let’s pick a room, let’s get dressed. Be ready in thirty minutes.”

There are five rooms in total; two on both sides of the hallway and one at the end. Alan power-walks ahead of you and claims the first on the left, slipping through the door with a giggle. Stu and Doug take the ones on the right, and you head straight to the room on the end, stripping your shirt off.

Your necklace gets caught up in the material and you’re untangling it when Phil says from awfully close behind you, “Uh, you just passed your room.”

Fuck him if he thinks you’re going to use the room beside Alan’s. You’ve hit your quota for crazy for the day, and he’s a lot weirder without Tracy here to keep him on his leash. “First come, first serve.” You tuck your necklace into the pocket of your jeans and spin around just shy of entering the room to come face-to-face with Phil.

He smirks, glancing down at your chest. “You know I don’t have a problem letting you come first.”

Your face heats up and you punch his shoulder. “Fuck off.”

“But you’ve stopped being my priority for months now.”

“I stopped being your priority way before we split.”

Phil narrows his eyes. “You mean before _you_ —”

“Oh- _kay_.” Doug comes out of nowhere and claps Phil’s shoulder. “How about we rock-paper-scissor this?”

“No way.”

You raise a brow and smirk. “Scared?”

Phil glares and drops a fist into an open palm. “Best two out of three.”

You mirror him, then both pump your fists three times and play your hand.

 _Paper_. Scissors. Point: Him.

 _Scissors_. Paper. Point: You.

 _Rock_. Scissors—

“Yesss.” You shout and pump a fist above your head. “I win. Suck a dick, loser.” With a laugh, you shove him back and slam the door in his sour-puss face.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

All dressed up in your favourite night out outfit and ready for what’s going to be a mind-blowing time, you check your phone for the message you got while in the shower.

 **_PHIL_ ** **  
** **Surprise toast to kick off nite. Jagermiester shots anyone??**

 **_STU_ ** **  
** **HECK YEH!!**

 **_PHIL_ ** **  
** **Someone call rm service ill keep him busy**

 **_ALAN_ ** **  
** **HEY PHIL HOW IS IT GOING**

 **_ALAN_ ** **  
** **ILL GET THE ALCOHOL**

 **_ALAN_ ** **  
** **WE ARE SO GONNA RAISE ROOF!!!! HA!!!**

 _Sounds sweet_ , you send before heading off to find your boys. Voices travel from Stu’s room, and you head there, where you find the man half-dressed and spraying his pits with deodorant.

Doug and Phil are discussing the bartender Melissa fucked as you walk past them, and the rich, heady smell of Phil’s cologne clouds your head. You stop dead between them and your eyes fall shut as the smell settles inside of you like a balm to your restless soul.

You used to smell him in all your things but it was a muted mix of you and him. For the first time since your official separation period, you’re getting the full-force of his scent and it’s intoxicating.

(You hate that he unknowingly comforted you when he is the very reason for those difficult nights, but at the same time, the day you couldn’t smell him anymore was when you truly felt alone in your new place.)

Stu calls your name and you open your eyes to him thrusting a small box in your direction with a toothy grin. “Check it out.”

You stare down at the ring. “You better be proposing to me.”

Phil scoffs. “It’s for Melissa.”

Doug twists around. “Isn’t that a great thing?” He raises his brows pointedly.

You cross your arms. “If by ‘thing’ you mean _mistake_ , then yeah.”

“ _Thank_ you!” Phil throws up his hands. “See, Stu?”

You carry on, “Dude, she’s a nightmare. What are you thinking?”

Working his jaw, Stu snaps the box closed and shakes his head. “I’m thinking maybe you and Phil are hung up on your failure of a marriage so you’re ragging on mine.”

Your fingers dig into your biceps. “Oh, fuck you.”

Phil crowds you from behind. “Fuck off, man.”

Doug’s attempt to diffuse the tension goes ignored when Stu squawks, “No! You’re both bitter—”

“This has _nothing_ ”—you swipe a hand in a vague gesture to you and Phil—“to do with us and—”

“You don’t know the first thing—” Phil says.

“Oh, trust me”—Stu laughs sharply—“I know plenty!”

“You know _shit_ ,” Phil says.

You cup your forehead, and the laugh that escapes sounds anything but humorous. “She hits you! I mean, if—”

“That’s what I said!” Phil exclaims.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up, I’m agreeing with you.”

“I don’t care.”

“That’s so fucking typical. Typical [Name] being a fucking selfish _shit_ face.”

You pivot to face him, and Doug winces behind you. Phil’s eyes are wide and piercing, brows set low and fierce, and he looks so much like he did the many times you’d argue, that a familiar wave of exasperation hits you. “And you’re still a whiny—”

“Hey guys,” comes a new voice, and you all whirl around to stare at Alan. “You ready to let the dogs out?”

“What?” Phil says.

Doug chuckles.

“Do what?” Stu asks.

“Let the dogs out. You know, like”—he drops his head and shifts his feet in an awkward little dance—“ _Who let the dogs out? Who? Who?_ ”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You shove your hands into your blazer pockets as you wait by the elevator. Phil drags his gaze down the length of your body with a look you don’t care to acknowledge. When your eyes meet, you scowl and he averts his attention to Alan.

“You’re not really wearing that, are you?” he asks.

Alan stares at Phil, a blank look on his face. “Wearing what?”

You gleam Alan’s outfit; a grey graphic t-shirt of a man glaring into an orange sun, white khakis, sneakers and a shoulder bag.

Phil points. “The man purse. You’re actually gonna wear that or are you guys fucking with me?”

You roll your eyes.

“It’s where I keep all my things,” Alan says. “Get a lot of compliments on this. Plus it’s not a man purse, it’s called a satchel. Indiana Jones wears one.”

Fuck, you need a drink.

The elevator arrives, opening to reveal a couple pretending he wasn’t just eating her out, but you don’t even care and stalk right in.

“We’re goin’ up, guys,” the dude says. His ’fro, beard and tracksuit make him look every bit like a ’70s porn star.

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” Phil says as someone pushes you closer to the couple.

“We’re going up?” Doug asks.

The creep eyes you behind gold shades as he avoids the blonde’s affections, and you swallow a retort and turn around to face the front.

The elevator stops on their floor and the couple push themselves out. Creep turns around. “Y’know, you’re free to join us.”

Your gaze clashes with his and your mouth drops open—he’s talking to _you_.

“You look like someone who’s a wildcat in bed. You guys can watch,” he adds, draping an arm around the blonde.

You grimace. “Not even if your dick had magical healing properties.”

Thankfully, Doug punches a button and the doors close, trapping in Phil’s obnoxious laughter. It bounces off the walls and rattles your eardrums.

“Oh man,” Phil says on a sigh. “That’s priceless.”

“Shut up.” You whack him with the back of your hand even as a chuckle slips out of you.

The elevator opens up to the top floor and you all pile out into the greasy, dingy-looking space.

“Uh… guys?” Stu points to an ‘Employees Only’ sign on a dirt-crusted wall. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be up here.”

You hook an arm around his neck and drag him along. He grunts and struggles out of your grip, and you let him go with a laugh. You pass rumbling industrial machines, following signs that point you to the rooftop entrance, and reach the door cautioning restricted access and that the door locks behind you.

Phil pushes it open without a thought.

“I’m just saying, it’s clearly marked,” Stu continues for the third time, and you can’t wait until he starts drinking already. “Okay? We are definitely not supposed to be up here.”

“Oh, come on, Stu,” Phil says. “We are paying for a villa. I mean, we can do whatever the fuck we want.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Just wedge the door open.” He starts up the ladder beside the door. “Guys, come on up here.”

“Fine.”

You climb up and discover the gorgeous view of the city laid out in front of you. It’s like the glow of the city lights are pushing off the unforgiving weight of the night sky. You catch Doug’s smile and find your own stretched across your face.

He pulls you into a hug and squeezes your shoulder. “Glad you came?”

“We’ll see.”

He chuckles.

“No, but seriously. Tonight’s about you, all right?”

Phil joins your hug, sandwiching Doug between. “You happy?” Phil asks him.

You break free and heave a breath of the cool night air. Tonight should kick off how the rest of Doug’s life should be: fun and surrounded by love. He deserves that, and you know everyone here is working with that goal in mind.

“Alan,” Phil says, “how we doing, buddy?”

“Good.” Alan’s by the ladder and he dances over with a bottle and a stack of shot glasses.

“What do you got over there, Alan?” Doug calls, a playful note in his voice as you come to a stop between Phil and Alan in the circle. “Uh-oh. A little Jägermeister.”

“Right?” Phil mutters, nudging him in a way that suggests maybe there’s a story behind this.

Alan passes around shot glasses. As Phil pours Jäger into yours, you take a step away so he can see in the light, but his fingers curl into the pocket of your jacket to keep you close.

“Um”—Stu holds up his shot—“no, this is good. I want—I’d like to make a toast. To Doug and Tracy. May tonight be… but a _minor speed bump_ … in an otherwise very long and healthy marriage.”

“Cheers,” you and Phil chorus as your glasses clink in the circle.

“Chin-chin,” Doug adds.

“Short and sweet,” Phil says.

You throw it back, the black licorice taste blasts your tongue as fire-hot liquid burns down your throat, and you all grunt.

“Oh, it’s like college.” Doug croaks.

“All right,” Phil says. “I wanna talk about something. I wanna talk—”

“I’d like to,” Alan calls out, then sighs up at the sky. “I’d like to say something”—he hands his glass to you as you snort at the dirty look Phil gives him—“that I prepared… tonight.” He pulls out paper from his back pocket. “ _Hello. How ’bout that ride in? I guess that’s why they call it Sin City._ ” He forces out a weak, choppy laugh.

You tilt your head to try to get a look at the page, but then your shot glass rattles as Phil stacks his own on top, and you shoot him a glare.

“ _You guys might not know this, but I consider myself a bit of a loner. I tend to think of myself as a one-man wolf pack. But when my sister brought Doug home, I knew he was one of my own. And my wolf pack, it grew by one._ So were there two of— _So there were two of us in the wolf pack._

“(I was alone first in the pack, and then Doug joined in later.)

“ _And six months ago… when Doug introduced me to you guys, I thought, ‘Wait a second, could it be?’ And now, I know for sure. I just added three more guys to my wolf pack._ ”

“Okay,” Stu says on a chuckle.

Doug laughs. “All right.”

“ _Five of us wolves_ ,” Alan declares, “ _running around the desert together in Las Vegas… looking for strippers and cocaine._

“ _So tonight_ ”—he digs for something in his pocket—“ _I make a toast_.”

He brandishes a pocket knife—and _shit_. A burst of noise erupts around you. Your stomach churns. You knew it. He’s going to fucking murder you all.

You just watch with mouth open and eyes wide as Alan fucking drives it into his _fucking hand_. Something whacks you, but it’s only when you’re stumbling into Phil’s chest do you register he’s yanked you back.

“Yeah.” A maniacal laugh tears out of the freak as he stares at Stu with orgasm-level intensity, then he makes a weird, wailing sound as he drags the knife out.

Stu’s voice goes up about an octave. “ _What is that_?!”

“Blood brothers.”

_Fuck. Me._

Doug and Stu freak out, but you can barely hear them over the rushing in your ears.

Phil’s own heart hammers against the back of your right shoulder, and his chest shudders as he lets out a shaky breath. “You okay?” he mutters.

“Fine,” you whisper, but you don’t know if he hears you. It’s a lie, anyway. His hand grips your left shoulder, and maybe it’s because of the alcohol, maybe it’s the adrenaline, ~~or maybe you just really fucking miss him,~~ but you let yourself close your eyes at his touch, at his closeness.

“Alan,” Doug intones slowly, “we’re not gonna cut ourselves. Give me the knife. Slowly… Thank you. Okay. Thank you very much.”

Phil pulls away, robbing you of his warmth, and approaches Alan. “You all right? Are you okay?”

“Mm-hm.” He nods, sucking his palm.

“Do you need a doctor?”

Doug gestures for you to come closer. “He’s fine, he’s good.”

“You sure?” Phil asks.

“I’m good,” Alan mutters behind his hand.

“All right, good, because I need everybody to focus.” Phil starts pacing, like he’s psyching himself up for this. “’Cause I wanna take a moment, I wanna talk about so—I wanna talk about memory. No, better yet, I wanna talk about _selective_ memory.” Your gazes meet for a second. “You see, whatever happens here tonight, may as well never have happened at all. Because this circle’s as far as it’s ever gonna go.

“In other words… Forget everything.” Doug chuckles, and Phil pauses to turn wide eyes on him. “Doug, I’m serious. Okay, good or bad, we don’t remember so we got nothin’ to talk about. _Nothing_ , guys.” His gaze slinks to yours again as he stresses, “ _Nothing_. Deal?”

Doug and Stu readily agree, but you frown as Phil holds your gaze. Is he suggesting a no-strings-attached night? Seriously? After all the shit you’ve been through for those horrible years you were married? Not to mention these last three months trying to figure out how to live again without him.

To put aside all the hurtful words and lonely nights sleeping a foot apart and _missing_ him—just for one night of mindless, saturated fun. It’s just… It’s so—

Maybe one last hurrah wouldn’t be such a bad idea. You can’t even remember the last time he touched you like he loves you, fucked you like he needs you…

One night. One meaningless, reckless night with the man you could have loved your whole life. Just sex.

 _Just_ sex. You need to remember that because god knows he has no problem compartmentalising.

Licking your lips, you give a little nod and watch as the corners of his mouth curl up. “Deal.”

Phil grabs his shot glass that you were miraculously able to hold onto during all the blood and bizarre fuckery, and pours another round. “All right.” There’s something like relief in his voice. “To a night… we’ll never remember.”

His eyes are bright as you bring your glasses up into the middle of the circle.

“But the five of us will never forget.”


	3. let’s just find doug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> [](https://sweetlikecandy.tumblr.com)  
>   
> 

You wake with a pounding headache and the feeling of being on a boat. A light trickling of water surrounds you and you’re rocking in a back and forth motion that’s making you nauseous, and there’s this smoky and burnt vinyl smell that’s not helping any. And—is that clucking?

A loud clutter of bangs scare you into sitting up, and something slips right out from under you and you fall into warm water. With a gasp, you scramble up to find yourself in a hot tub with a mountain of bubbles.

Holy shit.

Wiping water out of your eyes, you survey the state of the trashed suite. Damn. What the fuck happened last night?

You push the inflatable pool lounge off the edge of the tub and struggle to climb out. Alan stumbles past you wearing nothing but his t-shirt, a colourful beaded necklace and socks, and you’re treated to the stark image of his bare ass.

Jesus fuck. What the hell happened last night?

You pick up a fluffy robe from the floor and blindly fumble arms into it, staggering over to where Stu’s sitting in the living area to flop onto the couch adjacent. “Dude,” you whisper.

“I know.”

There’s another commotion behind you, and you sit up and squint at Phil and Alan sprawled on the floor. Alan moons you again as he pulls to his feet the way a toddler does, and you flop back down, but regret the quick movement when your head throbs.

“There is a _tiger_ in the bathroom!”

Normally, you’d be pretty concerned about something like that, but you just can’t bring yourself to care this fine fuckin’ morning. You especially don’t care for the shrill that’s reached Alan’s voice, and slap a pillow over your face to groan into.

Or suffocate yourself with.

Whatever will end this.

“God damn,” Phil says, “look at this place.” He lifts your legs and plops down, placing them on his lap. “Why are you wet?”

You groan again.

“Phil,” Stu utters lowly, “they have my credit card downstairs and I am so screwed.”

Alan’s still freaking out over the tiger, and Phil says something about pants, hands warming your cold legs.

You don’t care for how familiar this feels, and you stamp down the memories of coming home to plop down on the couch after a long day at work and Phil massaging your feet.

You pull the pillow away and sit up, letting your feet fall to the floor. Your head spins and you drop it into your hands.

You’re way too hungover for all of this.

“Hey guys,” Stu starts. “Am I missing a tooth?”

Phil leans forward as you squint up at him. “I can’t—” He breaks off with a wheeze as you outright laugh. “Ho-ly shit.”

Stu grabs the silver platter from the coffee table. “Ohh my god… My lateral incisor’s—it’s gone!”

“You look like a nerdy hillbilly,” you say on a breathless laugh, which only seems to upset him more.

Phil slaps you with the back of his hand and says, “It’s okay—okay, okay. We just need to—it’s—calm down.” You punch him back and take satisfaction in his wince. “We’re fine, everything’s _fine_.” He instructs Alan to wake Doug up so you can get out of here.

“What am I gonna tell Melissa? I lost a tooth an’ I have no idea how it happened.”

Phil stammers and makes a slashing motion by his head, as if cutting off Stu’s words from reaching his ear. “You’re freaking me out, man. Look, I’ve got a massive headache, okay? Let’s just _calm_ down.”

Stu’s about two seconds away from weeping. “How am I supposed to calm down? Look around you.”

“Hey guys.” Alan appears by the bar, a towel wrapped around his waist. “He-He’s not in there.”

“D’you check all the rooms?” Phil asks.

“Yeah, I looked everywhere—plus his mattress is gone.” He makes an amused, disbelieving sound.

Phil leans back and digs for his phone. “He probably went to the pool to get something to eat. I’ll call his cell.”

You clasp your hands above your head in a stretch, bones cracking and muscles protesting, and watch Stu go back to gawking at his reflection.

“I _do_ look like a nerdy hillbilly,” he whimpers.

Phil chuckles as he brings his phone to his ear.

A phone rings a few feet away and Alan looks around him. He picks it up by the pyramid of beer bottles. “Hello?”

You raise your brows.

“Alan,” Phil says.

“Hey.”

“… It’s Phil.”

“Oh hey, Phil—” He pulls the phone away. “This is Doug’s phone,” he says to himself, then repeats it to you.

“No shit.”

“Yeah.”

A soft cry sounds, and the three of you look at each other with disconcerted expressions.

“What the fuck is that?” Stu asks lowly.

You all trek across the mess toward the closet and Alan opens the door. You grab Phil and Stu’s shoulders and squeeze between them to get a look at the crying baby tucked in some blankets, its face scrunched and red.

“Whose fuckin’ baby is that?” Phil murmurs.

“Alan,” Stu says, “are you sure you didn’t see anyone else in the suite?”

“Yeah, I checked all the rooms, no one’s here. Check its collar or something.”

Phil fidgets and you squeeze his arm. “Did we kidnap a baby?” you whisper as Stu reaches in and tries to comfort it.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions, all right?” Phil turns back to the baby and says in a firm voice, “Ah, look—Stu, we don’t have time for this. Look, let’s go hook up with Doug, we’ll deal with the baby later.”

Alan’s shooting disturbing smiles at the baby, and you flashback to last night’s blood pack with a shudder.

“… there’s a _fucking tiger_ in the bathroom,” Stu’s saying.

“It’s not our baby,” Phil says.

“Yeah, I gotta side with Stu on this one,” Alan adds.

Phil looks to you.

“‘I’m sorry, officer,’” you say in an imitation of him, shrugging, “‘I didn’t know the tiger was gonna _eat_ the baby.’”

He sighs. “All right, fine. Okay, we’ll take it with us.” He glances at Alan’s towel. “Can you at least just find some pants?” He walks off, and you head toward your room to change into clean, dry clothes. You’ve lost the underwear you had on last night so you pull out a new pair too.

You get a glimpse of yourself in the en suite mirror looking like you challenged alcohol to a fight and lost so bad you’re still feeling the hits to your head. You rinse the fuzz out of your mouth with the complimentary mouthwash and splash water onto your weary face, leaving your hair to air dry. You’re a hot mess, but at least you feel somewhat human.

On your way out, you grab your sunglasses and start looking for your jacket. It’s by the front door on an overturned chair where Stu and the baby are.

“Here.” Stu holds out the baby.

“Oh, fuck no.”

“What’s the problem?” Phil approaches with his shirt buttoned up and sunglasses tucked into it. He’s still got shadows under his eyes, but his hair’s strategically rumpled, and how is it fair he’s more hot than mess?

“I need to ice my gums,” Stu says, thrusting the whimpering baby toward you again.

Phil sighs your name. “Take the baby.”

“ _You_ take it. You were the one who wanted a kid.”

He reels back. “I don’t want some rando baby. I want—I wanted _our_ —you know what? Fine. _Fine_. Gimme it.” He grabs holds of it, and the baby bursts into tears, its cries piercing your eardrums.

“You’re hurting him!” Alan squeals and races toward you with a black harness strapped to his front.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You’re in the elevator where it’s way too fucking bright (even with your shades on). Stu wonders why no one can remember a thing from last night and Phil’s laissez faire attitude about everything that’s happened this morning riles him up enough that he starts listing reasons why he can’t stop worrying and be “proud” of himself for having such a good time. “Oh, no, no—wait, wait, wait—I know.”

Phil sighs beside you, but he brought this on himself.

“Maybe it's because we found a baby. A _human_ baby. That’s it, that’s it. It’s because we found _a fucking baby_!” he finishes on a shout and you wince at the volume, pushing your temples.

Alan pulls up from his lopsided stance in front of you. “I don’t think you should curse around the child.”

“Really? I don’t think you should _be_ around a child.” Stu places the ice wrapped in a cloth napkin back to his bloody gum as the elevator doors open for a middle-aged woman.

Her face lights up at the baby as she gets in. “Oh, how cute.” She draws to Alan’s side and you shuffle to the back wall beside Phil. “What’s his name?”

Alan doesn’t say a thing, and Phil leans forward. “Ben.”

“Carlos,” Alan says.

You snort.

“Carlos?” Phil repeats as the doors close, and he throws you an incredulous look.

The woman avoids eye contact for the rest of the ride to the lobby floor and hurries out as soon as the doors are open enough for her to fit through.

The rest of you are more sluggish as you navigate through the lobby toward the pool area and find a table. Almost as soon as you plant your asses down in the shaded dining area, a waitress in her white and gold bikini uniform appears with a high chair and asks for your order in a chipper voice that grates your ears.

Stu declines, and as soon as she leaves with her blinding beam, he stands. “I’m gonna go look for Doug.”

You pull your sunglasses off and face plant onto the table with a moan. The flower centrepiece and cutlery rattle, and Phil cups the back of your head. “Careful. Jeez.”

Carlos’ little fist hits your right shoulder in an attempt to mimic Phil—and shit if that isn’t a tiny bit cute.

The food arrives shortly after, but you keep your head down. Cutlery scratch against plates as the two dig into their meals, with Alan cooing at Carlos between bites of his hotdog.

A high-pitched screech from the pool behind you makes your head throb. “This is how I’m gonna die.”

“You’re not dying.” You can practically hear Phil rolling his eyes. “Here, eat.” There’s the sound of a plate sliding over.

“I can’t.”

He sighs your name. “Please. I need you to eat something, I can’t be worrying about you passing out on me, okay?”

You tense.

“Hey, Phil, look,” Alan says and cackles. “He’s jacking his little wenis.”

You lift your head and rub your dry eyes, letting out a lazy laugh at Alan’s bandaged hand moving Carlos’ tiny fist in a crude gesture.

“Pull yourself together, man,” Phil says on a breathy snort.

“Not at the table, Carlos,” Alan playfully chastises.

You pick up one of the two toasts from your plate and peel off a corner as Stu drops into his seat, still icing his gum. “D’you find him?”

“I looked everywhere. Gym, casino, front desk—nobody’s seen Doug; he’s not here.”

“He’s fine,” Phil says, “he’s a grown man. Seriously? Stu, you gotta calm down. Here, have some juice.” He transfers the cup over to him and Stu promptly throws up.

“I can’t have juice right now,” he says through a grimace.

You pinch your nose and frown at Phil. “What if Doug’s in trouble?”

“Okay,” Phil says, producing a pen from out of nowhere the way only teachers can. “All right. Let’s—Let’s just track this thing.” He coughs and turns his napkin over. The one good thing about Phil is he’s good in a crisis—even hungover.

(You told him once he could be a cop or some other job involving high pressure because he had no problem emotionally detaching from a situation. He laughed it off. Which annoyed you, and an argument resulted.)

“All right, what’s the last thing you remember doing last night?”

Alan fiddles with his sunglasses, pushing the ear hooks into the inner corners of his eyes. “Well the first thing was, we were on the roof. And we were having those shots of Jäger.”

Stu dry-heaves.

Phil picks up his cup. “And then we had dinner at the Palm. Right?”

You rub your forehead. “I remember hash browns.” And Alan laughing about hash browns for din-dins.

“That’s right.” Alan nods, placing his shades back on. “And then we played craps at the Hard Rock, and I _think_ Doug was there.”

“That sounds right.” Phil nods as he scribbles that down. “No, no, no, no. He definitely was.”

“Yeah, you know what, guys?” Stu throws his arms out. “I don’t even remember going to dinner.”

“I know.” Phil drops his cup onto the marble top and sits back. “What the _fuck_ , I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungover.”

You slide your shades on and lean back as the stench of Stu’s puke flows over by a light gust of wind. “We’re getting _way_ too old for this shit.”

Phil scoffs. “Speak for yourself.”

“After the Hard Rock I blacked out,” Alan says. “It was like emptiness.” He guffaws.

Phil picks up the napkin. “Okay. We have until 10PM, so that gives us a twelve hour window when we could’a lost him.”

“What is this?” Alan holds up something small and white.

“Oh my god!” Stu reaches for it. “That is my tooth! Why do you have that?” he asks accusingly. “What else is in your pocket?”

“No, no, no,” Phil says, digging in his jean pockets. “This is a good thing! No, no, no—check your pockets! Check your pockets.”

You dig into the pockets of your jacket and Carlos shoves his grubby fist in there too so you lean away, bumping shoulders with Phil.

“You have anything?”

You pull out your dead phone, a dollar bill with illegible scribbles on it—you can make out that the words start with ‘M’ and ‘T’—possibly an autograph, and… a thong that’s decidedly _not_ yours. Oh great, a stripper’s autograph and a memento. Phil smirks at you and wiggles his brows. You push his face away, but smile to yourself as he laughs.

Stu holds up a piece of paper. “I have an ATM receipt from the Bellagio, 11:05… for _eight hundred dollars_! I am _so fucked_!”

“I have a valet ticket from Caesars,” Alan says. “Looks like we got in at 5:15AM.”

“Oh, shit”—Phil puts his hands to his face—“we drove last night?”

Alan cackles. “Driving drunk. Classic!”

Stu mocks the laugh, and you roll your lips together to hide your smile.

Something yellow in the corner of your eye catches your attention and you grab Phil’s wrist. “What’s this?”

He pulls in close to look at the plastic tag. “What the fuck?”

“Jesus, Phil”—Stu reaches out for a look himself—“you were in the _hospital_ last night.”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“You okay?” Alan asks.

“Yeah, Alan, I’m _fine,_ ” is his scathing reply.

You grab his wrist again with a frown, and Phil reassures you, albeit gentler. He was hurt last night. It had to be pretty bad if they checked him in long enough to need to tag him.

“What the hell is going on?” Stu says, clearly exasperated.

“This is a good thing.” Phil gets hold of your hand and squeezes it. “We have a lead now.”

“Hey Stu,” Alan says. “Watch this.”

As he shows Stu his twisted joke, Phil turns to you. “You okay?” he whispers. His piercing blue eyes dart over your face, and you shift in your seat. There’s a familiar look in his eyes that you haven’t seen in a long time.

You pull your hand away. “I punched you earlier.” Guilt hardens your insides.

“It’s fi—I’m all right, okay? You didn’t… I’m okay.”

Stu giggles, and you divert your attention to him because you don’t like how Phil’s looking at you with concern softening his features. “Let’s just find Doug.”

“All right.” Phil stands. “You guys get the car, I need some more coffee.”

“Me too,” you say, pulling to your feet.

You and Phil stop at the cafe bar to the right adjacent of the hotel’s exit while Stu and Alan head out toward the valet desk. You order your drinks to go and take a seat on the bar’s high chair.

Phil clears his throat. “So, uh… Do you remember anything?”

“Hash browns. And a _lot_ of laughing.”

“No, I mean about—about us.”

You start, swiveling in the seat to face him. “What are you talking about? What about us?”

His eyes shoot down meaningfully, and you follow his gaze to his hand, half tucked into his pocket. There’s some kind of fabric in his palm, but—

With a gasp, you shove his hand back in and hiss, “What the _fuck_ are you doing with that?!”

His hand flexes under yours as he lets go of your underwear. “You tell me.”

“For all I know, you could’ve taken it off me while I was asleep, you fucking perv.”

He fits his mouth to your ear and husks, “From what I recall, you loved slipping them in my pocket to tease me in public.”

Your face heats up, and you shove him away, clenching your jaw. Before you can say anything, the barista places your drinks on the counter. “I’m not talking about this with you right now.” You make a beeline for the exit, Phil following close behind.

Out at the entrance, you spot the others by the curb and make your way there. Stu tells Phil that the valet person needs his ID in order to verify the ticket, so he heads over to the desk.

How the _fuck_ did your underwear end up in Phil’s pocket? There’s no way you put it there. Except—shit, his toast up on the roof. The promise of one night, no strings. It’s possible you slipped it there sometime last night to get things started—a game you two played while dating. You’d be out with friends or to dinner, testing each other’s patience with little glances and sly innuendos before one would snap and drag the other home.

“So,” Stu starts, looking down at Alan holding his sunglasses on Carlos’ face. “Uh… you sure you’re qualified to be taking care of that baby?”

“What are you talkin’ about, I’ve found a baby before.”

“You found a baby before?”

“Yeah.”

You squint. “Where?”

“Coffee Bean.”

Stu blinks hard. “Wait… _what_?”

Alan turns as Phil approaches, sunglasses over his face and squinting down at the valet ticket. “Hey Phil… Look, I don’t think Doug would want us to take the Mercedes.”

“Relax, we’ll be careful.”

“You see, my dad is crazy about that car, and he left Doug in charge—”

“Alan,” he snaps.

“Easy,” you murmur as Stu averts his eyes.

Phil softens when he next says, “We got bigger problems here. Doug could be in the hospital; he could be hurt, okay? Let’s worry about the car later.”

“What”—you twist around to follow Stu’s line of vision—“What are you looking at?”

“Check it out.” He points to the roof where a bunch of guys are working to remove a mattress impaled on a statue.

“Is that the mattress from Doug’s room?” Alan asks.

“What the _fuck_?” Phil mutters and approaches a guy—who looks like he accidentally walked off the golf course, with his visor cap and shirt tucked into his belted khakis—at the trunk of his car. “Hey, man—what-what’s goin’ on here?”

“Some asshole threw his bed out the window last night.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah. Some guys just can’t handle Vegas.” He slams the trunk closed and walks off as Stu forces a laugh.

Phil pats his arm. “It’s gonna be okay, Stu.” He turns to you. “How the _hell_ did we manage tha—”

A patrol car screeches to a halt, and a valet guy steps out, patting the roof. “Here’s your car, officers.”

“Ohh god,” Stu says.

You cover your mouth. “Fuck me.”

Phil swipes a finger across his nose and pushes up his shades. “All right, everybody, act cool. All right? Don’t say a word. Come on, let’s just get in and go.” He nudges you forward. “Come on.”

You weakly thank the guy as he holds out the driver-side passenger door for you, and slip in.

“Stu, you got a five?”

“No.”

“I’ll hit’cha on the way back,” Phil says, getting into the driver’s seat.

“Thank you, sir.”

There’s a muted bang to your right, and the baby starts crying as Stu exclaims.

“Jesus fuck,” you say on a groan, slouching in your seat. “This is like the world’s worst hangover.”

“It’s fine,” Phil says, “he’ll live.”

“We’re gonna get arrested!”

“Calm down, all right? I promise you, we’re gonna be fine.”

The door opens and Alan climbs in before you can retort back about where his promises left you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo some backstory: two years ago I was having trouble sleeping so I was playing an AU of my life (you know how you do) and Steve Rogers said to me, “I can’t be worrying about you passing out on me, okay?” but in a scathing, offhanded kind of way ~~because he was stressed about finding Bucky~~. Sound similar? I liked the line, reworked the tone and imagined Phil saying it, and thus began the planning of this story. I think it’s super in character too, because throughout the film he’s constantly reassuring the boys when they’re upset/hurt, and it’s one of my favourite non-script lines and gives me the warm and fuzzies.
> 
> Just really wanted you to know that. Okay, so any favourite parts so far? How are you liking it? Does anything seem off character or annoying (including canon-related material)? Any thoughts/issues with the Reader character? I kind of modelled them after me in that they’re a little introverted and quiet.


	4. best little chapel

Something smells funky back here, like stale urine and puke. Phil has rolled down the front windows, but instead of cruising down the boulevard with a nice breeze, you’re inching along, stuck in traffic for god knows how long now.

Phil blares the horn again.

“This is so illegal,” Stu says from the passenger seat.

“Can’t you see the fun part in anything?” Phil asks.

“Yeah, we’re stuck in traffic in a stolen police car with what is sure to be a missing child in the back seat. Which part of this is fun?”

“Hooah,” you deadpan, rolling your head away from the window.

From the middle seat beside you, Alan says, “I think the cop car part’s pretty cool.”

“Thank you, Alan!” Phil says. “It _is_ cool. Doug would love it.”

You sit up. “Have you _met_ Doug?” Phil and Stu have known Doug since they were kids, but sometimes it feels like you know him better than they do.

Phil lays on the horn again. “Come on!” The piercing sound of a siren blasts in two short bursts. “Check this out!”

The car climbs onto the footpath full of people and Stu protests. “Don’t do this!”

You grip the metal partition. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Take it easy,” Phil says as Alan chuckles.

“Just try to call more attention to us,” Stu says sarcastically and apologises to a passing pedestrian through the window.

“Attention”—Phil’s no-nonsense voice blares through the PA system—“attention, please. Move out of the way. I repeat, please disperse.”

“Phil, stopthecarIwannagetout,” Stu mutters, “stopthecarIwannagetout. Stop—stopthecarIwannagetout. Pull… Pull over.”

You cover your heated face when you catch people’s stare. “Oh, we are _definitely_ getting arrested.”

Phil’s voice crackles through again. “Ma’am in the leopard dress, you’ve an amazing rack.”

Alan’s laugh drowns out your own, though you’re tempted to shove your fingers through the holes in the partition to yank at his hair.

“Get off the sidewalk!” Stu yells, but at Phil or the pedestrians, you don’t know.

Seemingly ignoring Stu’s rising hysteria, Phil carefully navigates the footpath. “I should’ve been a fuckin’ cop.”

You kick the back of his seat, the metal rattling before it’s drowned out by another blast of the siren.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

By the time you reach the hospital, you’re nauseous again.

Another patrol car passed on the way here, and you swore they were going to pull you over—or with the way Phil is playing it fast and loose, you thought you were going to be involved in a high speed car chase that would involve at least one casualty.

(Stu would throw himself out of the car, even at 60 mph.)

People linger by the lounge area, looking varying degrees of ruffled and sleep deprived—not unlike the four of you. A mother leads a crying child past you, distracting Alan with the green balloon tied to the little guy’s wrist. Carlos, attached to his chest, coos and holds out grabby fingers.

Phil asks the front desk for Doctor Valsh, the doc on his tag, and they instruct you up to the bleak and quiet second floor, where the nurses point you to a balding redhead about to enter a room down the hall. The quintessential elderly patient in his hospital gown and robe shuffles by, pushing an IV hook along.

You linger by the nurse’s station. “You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up.” Phil hesitates with a questioning look, but you wave him off and turn back to the nurse. “Hey, do you guys have any Tums or something?”

She gives you a sympathetic smile. “Aw, not feeling well, hon?”

“Car ride over made me queasy.” Among other things.

She asks about your medical history before producing a box of lemon-flavoured Maalox. She pops two into a small plastic cup of water. You thank her and sip it as you head into the room the guys disappeared into. Stu steps aside to make room for you.

“Look, I already told you,” Valsh says in his depressing lilt, a reflex hammer in hand and an old man in his underwear on the bed before him. “You came in with a mild concussion, some bruised ribs… No big deal. Although none of you could articulate how it happened.”

To your left, Phil pushes off the sink he was leaning against. “Do you remember, uh, how many of us were here?”

He continues to examine his patient. “I don’t know. I think it was just you guys. Definitely no baby.” He looks at Alan and Carlos on the chair, who are gaping at the old man and doctor, respectively. “And one other guy.”

Your chest lightens (though that may also be the antacids kicking in) and Phil pats your back with a smile.

“That’s our guy!” Stu exclaims softly, sounding hopeful for the first time this morning. “Was he okay?”

“Yeah, he was fine. Just whacked out of his mind—you all were.” He stretches on a glove and helps the old guy up. “All right, come forward… and turn. All right.” He pulls the man’s underwear down and you get a glimpse of a saggy ass before the three of you turn around, Phil inhaling as Stu makes a strangled sound.

(What is it with people mooning you today?)

You spy Alan behind Stu, both he and the baby staring at the old man with an identical intrigued twist in their expressions.

“There you go. And cough…”

Phil sneaks a peek through his propped up hand and lets out a breath that whispers against your cheek as he faces the door again.

You might need to ask that nurse for a few more of those antacids.

“All right, atta boy. Okay, Felix, you can put your robe on. And, uh, the nurse will be in here in a minute. I’ll see _you_ after the weekend.”

You turn back around, and Felix thanks him as the doc moves to the sink, throwing you a doubtful look.

“Guys, I really gotta go, I’m sorry—I have a surgery up on the fourth floor.”

“No, I know,” Phil says. “But we just need a couple more minutes of your time.” He flashes a bill.

“Yeah. Tuck it right in there. I don’t want to re-sterilise.” Phil slips it into the pocket of his lab coat. “Walk with me.” You follow him to his office on the floor above where he grabs a file on his messy desk and pace down the hallway after him as he reads from it. “Okay, here we go. Patient name, Phil Wenneck, 2:45 AM arrival. Minor concussion, like I said. Some bruising, pretty standard.”

Stu reaches forward. “Do you mind if I look? I’m actually a doctor.”

“Yeah. You said that several times last night. But really, you’re just a dentist.”

At his defeated look, you pat his shoulder.

“Okay, this is interesting. Your blood work came in this morning. Wow.” You stop at the nurse’s station. “They found a large amount of Ruphylin in your system.”

“Ru—?” Phil breaks off.

“Ruphylin? Roofies? Commonly known as the date-rape drug?”

You grip Phil’s sleeve to your left.

“What, so”—he wheezes with amused disbelief, flicking a look to you—“what are you sayin’, I was raped last night?”

“Actually…” He consults the file, and you lean your elbows on the countertop as Phil and Stu share a look over your head. “I don’t think so. But someone did slip you the drug. I’m not surprised you don’t remember anything.”

Phil mirrors your position, and the back of his hand touches yours in a subtle plea for comfort, but your head’s too busy swirling.

Alan cackles from the end of the counter. “Doc, none of us can remember anything from last night. Remember?”

“Yeah,” Phil says. “How could someone have drugged all of us?”

“Look, I wouldn’t worry about it, guys.” Sympathy washes across the doc’s face. “By now, the stuff’s out of your system. You’re gonna be fine. I have to go.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Stu calls out. “Please, Doctor. Is there anything else? Like, something we may have been talking about, or some place we were going?”

He starts shaking his head, but then his brows raise as he meets your gaze. “Actually, there was something. You guys kept talking about some wedding last night.”

“Yeah, no shit. Our buddy Doug’s getting married tomorrow.”

“You know what?”—Phil reaches forward—“I want the hundred back.”

The doc holds up a hand. “No, no, no. Easy. You kept talking about some wedding you just _came_ from. At the, uh, Best Little Chapel.”

Phil whips his head to you.

There’s no way. You both glance down at your left hand. No ring. Still, that doesn’t mean… A mix of emotions churn in the pit of your stomach.

He starts rummaging in his pockets as the doc continues, “You guys kept saying how sick the wedding was and gettin’ all crazy about it. Okay? I hope this helps, fellas, I really have to leave.”

Phil pulls out a receipt and grabs a pen from the cup in front of him. “Be-Best Little Chapel, do you know where that is?”

You spot a Tums container under the tabletop and straighten as the doc says, “I do. It’s at the corner of… Get A Map and Fuck Off.”

You scowl at him as Phil slowly lifts his head.

“I’m a doctor, not a tour guide. Figure it out yourself, okay? You’re big boys.” He walks off, and Phil scribbles the name down as you scoot around him to grab the Tums.

“Let’s get outta this fuckin’ place,” you mutter, throwing the container to Stu.

He catches it and slaps the countertop. “Hooah.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You give Phil directions using MapQuest on his BlackBerry, yelling at him every time your shoulder hits the door from his sharp turns. Ten minutes later, you pull up to the place—located right next to a strip joint (ah, Vegas)—and almost bang your head against Alan’s as the car speeds into the chapel’s car park, parking over three spaces in front of the building.

It actually looks kind of quaint, with the picket white fence, the vine draped along the arched porch and a trellis into what you assume is a mini garden that leads to the back of the building.

“What about the baby?” Alan asks, climbing over him to get out the door.

“Just leave him in the car,” Phil says, “we’re only gonna be five minutes.”

“Whoa, we’re not leaving a baby in the car,” Stu says.

“He’ll be fine, I cracked the window.” At your look, he says, “What?”

“Are you shitting me? It’s like, ninety degrees out.”

“Fine. Then you stay with him.” He tosses you the keys, and Stu simply shrugs, leaving you to glower at their retreating backs.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Phil leads the way into what looks like an outdated funeral home. In a surprisingly apt way, it brings him back to your own wedding, which feels like a decade ago. You were both crazy in love and just wanted to be married without all the hoopla of a wedding. So you put together a quickie ceremony in Phil’s parent’s backyard with a handful of your closest friends and family.

(God, he still remembers the look on your face as you stood across from him. The ache in his cheeks from the smile he couldn’t shake, the fullness in his chest… But all it does is remind him of the look you care to spare him now—contempt and disappointment. The weight of his frown, the numbness throughout the day.)

“What if they don’t remember us?” Stu asks.

“Well, let’s just find out.” Phil looks past the door behind the reception desk, absently thumbing the base of his bare left fourth finger. It still feels weird without the weight of his ring, but he can practically feel it burning in his pocket where it lives in his wallet.

Further into the place, it turns into more like the cheesy Elvis-wedding type chapel that’s associated with Vegas, with pews, mini chandeliers and a stain-glass window behind a small alter. There’s a man talking to a woman who’s fixing one of the chandelier light bulbs.

“I’m sorr—Excuse me, sir? Hi.”

The man turns and laughs in surprised recognition. He approaches them. “Look at these guys! What happened? You miss me? You miss Eddie? You want more from me?” The man readily embraces Phil, who exclaims in surprise. “How are you, my friend?” He moves onto Alan next. “ _Look at this guy!_ ” He affectionately cups Alan’s cheeks, and they hug. “ _You’re fucking crazy._ What’s going on, man?” He takes a step back. “Listen, I’m gonna tell you something. I know some sick people in my life. This guy”—he gestures to Stu—“is the craziest, wildest bastard I ever met in my life, man.”

Phil raises his brows and jerks a thumb at Stu. “Who, this guy?”

“This guy is out of his mind!” Eddie hugs Stu. “What’s going on, you fucking crazy motherfucker? Thought he was gonna eat my dick.”

Phil leans back and says, “Oh…” because what the fuck else is he supposed to say to that?

“What happened? No love for Eddie? You don’t hug me? Huh?”

“No, no,” Stu says, “it’s not that… Eddie, uh, it’s just that we’re having a hard time remembering what happened here last night.”

“Yeah, was there a wedding here?” Alan asks. “Do you do weddings here?”

Eddie laughs. “You are cracking my balls, man. I love these guys.” He turns to the woman behind him. “Zolea! What you doing? Bring my friend some tea, some baklava, huh?” The woman scurries off, and he slaps her ass as she passes. “Come on. Unbelievable, man.” He goes on about Vegas and how there’s no intimacy but sex here, and offers to get them chicks from the Eastern Block “no questions.”

Jesus, what a character—it’s a shame you aren’t in here; Phil thinks you’d get a kick outta this guy.

At the thought of you, he remembers how worried you are about Doug and what you’re all here for. “Eddie, okay,” he interrupts, because this guy could go on and on about tits, and they don’t have time for this right now. “Obviously we were here last night, and we’re looking for our friend Doug. Do you remember him?”

“Yeah, the small guy—like a monkey, the way he keep hanging off the other one. ’Ey, where is, uh—?”

Phil says your name, and Eddie bursts into jovial laughter.

“Yes! Where’s [Name]?” He leans forward, as if he’s about to tell them a secret. “Are they, you know”—he raises his brows and leers—“fucking? They was crazy all over last night.”

A flash of your crestfallen face sends Phil’s stomach curling, and a burst of misplaced irritation hits him. “No. No!”

Stu puts a hand to Phil’s shoulder. “Is there anything you can tell us about what may have happened last night?”

Eddie smiles, as if still waiting for them all to break out into laughter and yell, _Psych!_ , even as he says, “You don’t remember nothing?”

He brings them back to the glass counter at the front of the chapel and drops a photo album in front of them.

Stu flips it open and a strangled sound comes out from his nose at the pictures of him in a light blue tux posing with a blonde in a yellow dress and white cowboy-style hat.

Phil covers his mouth.

“Congratulations, Stu, you got _married_ ,” Alan says in an awed voice.

“This… This can’t be happening.”

Stu flips to another page to one with all five of you in matching blue tuxes with the bride. Alan looks like he’s about to walk out of the frame, if not for Doug’s arm around him, his other arm draped around your shoulders as you grin into the camera, eyes caught in a blink. The blonde’s mouth is open in a shout or laugh with Stu beaming and groping her breast. Phil’s on the other end, staring off with a dazed look on his face.

“Oh god.” Stu steps away as he make another noise, and Phil flips to the next one of Stu piggybacking her as she points to a ring on her finger.

“I’ll tell you one thing”—Phil points to the picture—“you look seriously happy here, man.”

Stu just groans.

Another photo shows him on one knee with her foot on his shoulder.

“That’s it. My life is over.”

“Stu, it’s oka—Look, shit happens!” He shrugs. “Come on, Melissa’s not gonna know anything about this.” He holds out a hand and raises his brows. “ _This never happened_. I’ll take care of it.” He turns back in time for Eddie to return with the woman carrying two large boxes.

“Come on,” Eddie says, pointing to the space in front of the cash register. “Put it here.”

“Hey, what’s all that?” Alan asks.

“The High Roller package. It’s what you guys ordered.” He takes out a mug, baseball cap and calendar, all featuring pictures of the couple.

Phil crosses his arms, looking at the calendar with the business logo and the happy couple’s names printed on it. “Her name’s Jade?”

Alan puts on the cap, and Phil glances over at Stu, who’s pacing.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “and she’s beautiful, man. Clean, very tight. Tits like that—but that’s because she had a baby.” He chuckles almost sarcastically.

“That explains the baby,” Phil says, trying to get Stu’s attention.

“Oh, Carlos!” Alan says. “Carlos.”

Phil claps. “ _Great_ , all right. Uh… Eddie, here’s the deal. We made a major mistake last night—we need to get this marriage annulled immediately. You do annulments?”

“Of course I do annulments. It breaks my heart and gonna make me very sad, but you know, it’s no problem, and I’m gonna make a very good price for you.” He gestures to Stu. “I can’t do it with just him, though, I need the—need the chick; I need both parties.”

Phil shakes his head. “Not a problem, that’s great. Isn’t that great, Stu?”

He has his hands braced on the back of his neck, a frown marring his face.

“Come on, buddy! And she probably knows where Doug is.”

Stu pinches his eyes shut and forces out a deflated, “Awesome.”

“All right. All right.” Phil claps again and turns back to Eddie. “Okay, uh… We need her address. She must’ve filled out some paperwork, right?”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

“… and he—it felt like a battlefield, you know? When we fought, it was intense. I mean, everything about us was intense.”

Carlos gives that dopey baby smile. You’ve moved him to the other side of the car because, with the way Phil’s driving, behind the driver’s seat would be the safest place for Carlos to be in the event of an accident.

“I guess it really started getting bad when I got that promotion, a few months after we got married.” You sit back against the door and toy with the wedding band hanging from your necklace. “And toward the end, every fight felt heavier, like they carried unresolved feelings from the previous one. It wasn’t healthy—”

Carlos makes a soft coo.

“Exactly!”

He giggles at your outburst, and you smile. Reaching out, you pinch his chubby cheek. “See? You get me.” You sigh and look over to the chapel. “What’s taking those idiots so long?”

It’s starting to get cold with the air conditioner on full blast so you get out and turn the engine off. You’ve just closed the driver’s door when they finally come back out. You quickly shove your necklace under the collar of your shirt as you frown at the boxes Phil and Alan are each carrying.

(What? They bought shit in there?)

“What happened?”

“Pop the trunk, would you?” Phil asks.

“Stu got married,” Alan says.

Your brows jump as you approach them. “No way.” You glance over at Stu, who’s clenching his fists by his hips. “To who?”

He shakes his head, his jaw clenching.

“Check it out.” Alan points to his hat where there’s a print of Stu and a pretty blonde above a banner.

“ _Forever yours._ ” You snort. “Where can I get one?” You rummage in the box Phil put in the trunk and pull out a mug with the same print. “What about Doug?”

“We’re checkin’ out her place,” Phil says. “Baby’s hers, by the way.”

“Hey, Phil, what about my dad’s car?”

“I’m sure Doug has it. We’ll get it back.”

“Then I vote we torch the cop car and all this shit with it.”

You all turn at Stu’s words.

“Torch it?” Phil repeats. “Who are you?”

“I don’t know, Phil. Apparently I’m a guy who marries complete strangers. This whole situation is completely fucked.” He grabs the mug from your hand—“These _mugs_ ”—and smashes it on the ground, and you fall back into Phil to avoid the fragments. He rips Alan’s hat off. “This _hat_.”

“Hey!”

“This _car_ —it’s all evidence of a night that _never happened_. That is why we’re torching all of it.”

Both Phil’s and your objections overlap, and he continues, “I’m all for secrecy, but I’m not gonna torch a fucking cop car.”

“Fine,” Stu says, all calm and casual. “I’ll do it.”

“Can I help?” Alan asks.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Arms akimbo, Phil pass a skeptical look at them. “And how exactly are you gonna do that?”

“Oh, it’s easy”—Alan makes hand gestures with his ludicrous instructions—“you just pour kerosene over a ferret, light it on both ends, put it in. They’re attracted to the gas lines.”

“What?” Stu asks. “A ferret?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Or a tamed raccoon, but it’s a lot of trouble. If you wanna…”

As they continue to discuss the absurd difference between a tamed and untamed racoon, you glance over at Phil, who’s watching the exchange with disbelief.

A phone rings, and your hands all hurry for your pockets, but you clench your fists and scrunch your eyes. Fuck, your phone’s dead.

“Shit, is it Doug?” Phil asks.

“I don’t have it,” Alan mutters to himself.

“It’s Doug, it’s Doug!” Phil points to Stu’s pants, who pulls out his phone.

“Uh, it’s Melissa.”

You all deflate, and Phil closes the trunk. “Don’t answer it.”

“I have to. She’s called _twice_ already!”

You check in on Carlos on your way to the front passenger seat as Alan asks Phil if he could ride shotgun. Phil yanks his arm away and mutters an aggravated, “Don’t touch me.”

“Hey sweetheart”—Stu’s voice oozes honey—“how are ya?”

You roll your eyes and lean against the open door.

“I know. The reception up here’s crazy. I think it’s all the sequoia trees, block the signal.”

Over the roof of the car, you mouth _sequoia_ to Phil, and he shrugs, rolling his eyes.

“ _Ehh_. It was really fun, actually—it was kinda quiet, but it was a good time.” You all get in as Stu continues spewing shit in a loving tone—you almost miss his hysterical shouts. “I’m learning all kinds of vino factoids.”

Alan presses his face against the metal partition between you and Phil. “It’d be so cool if I could breastfeed, you know?”

Phil side-eyes him. You knock on the partition hard enough for Alan to jerk back, and Phil snorts.

“Well listen,” Stu continues, “we’re about to go for a tractor ride—”

Loud tire screeching drowns out the rest of his bullshit, and an Asian man with a goatee holding a baseball bat gets out of an orange and black convertible.

Oh shit. This can’t be good.


	5. what the fuck is going on?!

“What the fuck?” Phil utters as another man in a tank top with hair slicked back and a steel pipe stalks to your door.

“Hit the locks!” you yelp, smacking Phil.

“What?” Stu laughs in a high pitch. “No, [Name]’s not here! That was the ranch hand.”

The man with the steel pipe glares at you through the window. “Let’s go, out of the car!”

You jump at the bang on your window.

“They started up the tractor. I think it backfired.”

The man with the baseball bat leans over the driver’s side of the windshield. “Where the hell is he?”

“Hey!” Phil shouts. “Easy, easy. I-I think we’re looking for the same guy, okay?” Steel Pipe strikes the windshield, and Phil’s arm knocks you in the chest, and your scream gets stuck. “Hey! What the hell, man?”

Carlos starts crying.

“Why would there be a baby? We’re at a winery. That’s a-a goat.”

You whip around and hiss, “Fucking _hell_ , Stu—hang up damn the phone!”

“Where is he?” Steel Pipe shouts, face pinched in anger.

Phil’s voice has reached hysterical as he yells back, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Sir,” Stu asks, voice perfectly cool and polite, “can you please start the tractor so we can get out of here?”

Phil almost punches you in the neck as he swivels around. “I’m trying to, but we’re fucking blocked!”

Carlos cries louder. Baseball Bat takes a swing, smashing into the other side of the windshield.

“Hey!” Alan bellows. “There’s a baby on board!”

“Get out of the car!” he growls.

Phil fucking finally starts the engine. “Calm down!”

“It’s a baby goat! It’s a baby _goat_.”

A scrawny man comes out of the chapel. “Why are you making trouble for my business, man? Go away from here now.”

“Get out of the _fucking_ car!” Steel Pipe pulls out a gun and aims it at you.

“Phil, he’s got a gun!” Alan bleats.

“No shit, he’s got a gun!” He fumbles around like a fucking idiot.

You force your lungs into working. “Just drive!”

He shoves the car into gear and mutters to himself, “Come on.”

“I gotta call you back. Bye!”

The car shoots forward—a gunshot goes off—and crashes into the limo ahead. You brace the dashboard just shy of slamming face first into it.

“Fuck!” Phil shouts. “ _Shit_.”

“He shot Eddie!” Stu screeches.

“Fuck this shit!” Phil hits reverse.

“Go, go, go!”

“We’re gonna die,” you say on a moan, squeezing your eyes shut and throwing your head back.

The car smashes through a bus shelter and goes into a tailspin as you slam into the door.

“Fuck! Fuck!” Phil throws the gear into drive again and the car squeals off. “Oh- _kay_!” He glances at you with a crazed, adrenaline-fuelled grin. “Oh, that was some sick shit,” he says on a breath. “You okay?”

You’re panting as you stare out of the spider-webbed windshield. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Who were those guys?” Alan shouts.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Stu murmurs breathlessly. Carlos is on Alan’s lap, clutching his fingers as Stu lightly rubs his chest. “Everything’s gonna be okay, all right?” He whips around to you and rattles your eardrums with his shrieking, “What the fuck is going on?!”

Phil looks at you again. “I have no idea.”

Stu’s phone rings again.

“Why don’t you just let that one go to voicemail?”

“Ha-ha-ha-ha!

“That’s a fake laugh, by the way!”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Phil parks the car in a lot in front of an apartment complex that could easily pass as a cheap motel. The adrenaline’s worn off by now, and you all get out a little unsteadily with that feeling like you just walked out of an action-packed movie theatre and into the quiet lobby.

Alan lags behind as he straps on the baby carrier, but the rest of you head toward the stairs.

“Hey.” Phil catches your elbow, and you slow to match his pace. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“No, really.”

“No, really?” You face him on the stained veranda. It’s hard to see his eyes through his shades, though you doubt you’d be able to tell what he’s thinking otherwise. “Doug’s gone, and every time we get one step closer, it feels like we’re taking two steps back from actually finding him.”

Alan precedes you to where Stu’s waiting by the steps, one hand on the railing and the other on his cocked hip.

“Yeah.” Phil sighs and squeezes your shoulder. The weight of his hand burns through your shirt. “But we keep going anyway. Right?”

You have half a mind to tell them to go on without you, that you’ll meet them back at the hotel. But a bigger part of you wants to be there when you find Doug.

You lick your lips, heaving your shoulders up.

Stu calls your names. “Uh, hello?”

You exhale and nod. Phil drops his hand but stalls until your feet start moving.

You’re almost to the top of the stairs when Alan swivels around mid-step, Carlos’ feet swinging around. “Hey, you guys ever see _Three Men and a Baby_?”

You nudge him. “Keep moving.”

You reach the second floor as he goes on. “Do you know it? It’s got, uh, Ted Danson and Magnum P.I. and that Jewish actor.” He throws a look your way. “You’re the hot chick.”

You sputter.

“Shut _up_ , Alan,” Stu says all grouchy. Dude needs a nap. “What room was it, again?”

“It’s eight-twenty-five,” Phil says.

The blonde from your desecrated mug steps out just before you reach the door, and she gasps when she spots you. “I found him, I’ll call you back,” she says into her phone and hangs up. “Thank god he’s with his father!” She giggles and takes Carlos. “I was freakin’ out. I missed you, sweetie. Oh.” She pecks his cheek and balances him on her hip before curling her lip at Stu. “And I miss you.” She pulls him into a heated kiss and moans into him.

Your jaw drops.

Stu breaks it off with a strangled, “No.”

She turns her head and grins. “Hey you.”

You glance behind your shoulder. Who… She’s looking at _you_ behind her oversized shades.

You blink. “Um, hey. You.”

Phil drops an arm on your shoulder, which only seems to feed her smile.

She flicks her head lightly, glowing hair bouncing. “What the hell happened to you guys?”

“Actually,” Phil starts uneasily. “We were hoping you could tell us.”

“What do you mean? I got up this morning, I went to get you guys all coffee, and I came back… and you were gone.”

Stu’s frowning, Phil shifts his weight onto your shoulder, you purse your lips and Alan looks heartbroken as he stares at Carlos.

She catches Stu’s attention. “Why are you being so quiet?”

“I’m not being quiet,” he flirts back shyly.

She giggles. “You’re so cute.” She holds onto his hand. “Here, I gotta feed Tyler—come inside, you guys.”

“Did you hear that?” Alan murmurs. “Baby’s name is Tyler.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, “I thought he looked more like a Carlos too, bud.”

Before you can take a seat on the couch beside Stu, the woman calls your name. “Come help me get the boys a drink.” She directs you to the fridge decorated in pictures and coupons for a pitcher of sweet tea while she drops ice into some cups one handed. As you set to your task of pouring, she sidles up to you. “So? Dish.”

From his place on her hip, Tyler leans in, as if to get in on the gossip.

“Excuse me?” you ask.

“You and Phil, silly,” she says under her breath, the corners of her bug eyes crinkling with her smile.

Your gaze darts to the guys watching you from the couch a few feet away. “Oh, um…” You get a vague sense of déjà vu, except there’s a thrumming bass rattling through your heated body, pressed up between a hard body from behind with a softer one in front. You set the pitcher down with a shaky hand, clear your throat and balance three cups in your grip. “Later.”

She agrees, picks up the remaining cup and follows you back. “Okay, what’s up? You guys are acting weird.”

Phil helps you with the drinks and shifts over for you to sit between him and Stu. You grab the stuffed bear in your spot and seat it on your lap. You take a refreshing sip from your cup as Phil leans forward a little. “Look—it’s Jade, right?”

The corner of her mouth tilts up even as she frowns. “Very funny, Phil.”

“Right, Jade, uh”—he clears his throat—“you remember our friend, Doug.”

She hands Stu the cup. “Are you kidding? He was the best man.”

“Exactly. Well, we can’t find him, and we’re getting a little worried.”

“Oh my god, that is _so_ Doug.” She laughs a high-pitched chortle as Stu takes a swig.

You raise your brows. “Yeah, so—”

Stu does a spit-take over the baby, and Tyler starts crying.

You have half a mind to slap the back of his head but instead grab his cup and place both his and yours onto the small coffee table beside today’s newspaper.

Jade tries to console him and leaves to clean him off. “It’s all right, Daddy didn’t mean it.”

“Oh my god,” Stu mutters as soon as she’s gone.

“What the fuck, man?” you whisper.

Phil presses up against you to add, “You gotta hold it together.” Stu doesn’t seem to hear because he just keeps swearing. “She is super hot—you should be proud of yourself.”

You click your tongue and shove him away.

“She’s wearing my grandmother’s ring!” Stu utters.

Phil frowns. “What?”

“The ring I’m gonna give to Melissa. You remember, my grandmother’s Holocaust ring?”

“Fuck. Okay.”

“She’s wearing it.”

They drop their heads, but you’re not too torn up about it. Jade greeted you with a smile. The nicest thing Melissa’s ever done is ignore you.

From the other side of Phil, Alan says, “I didn’t know they gave out rings at the Holocaust.”

Jade comes back with Tyler, who’s quiet and changed into a neon cyan onesie. “He’s okay.”

“Oh, good,” Phil says.

“He was just hungry, he’s fine.” She laughs.

“Oh, good.”

She sits herself down in the chair across from Alan, adjusting Tyler in a cradle.

“About last night, uh”—Phil clears his throat—“do you remember the last time you saw Doug?”

“Uh, I haven’t seen him since the wedding.”

“The wedding. Okay.” He leans back for the receipt in his pocket and grabs the pen beside the newspaper. “Great. And, uh… we can’t re—What time was that at?”

“Well, it was, um…” She pops her boob out, and Phil clears his throat loudly into his fist.

You avert your eyes to the bookshelf across the room.

“I guess it was around one, because I had to go back to work and finish my shift. And then when I got out I headed over to the hotel with Tyler.”

Phil scribbles on the receipt. “And… was Doug there, then?”

“I didn’t see Doug because you guys were passed out—the room was a _wreck_. So I just curled up next to Stu.”

“Uh-huh.”

She leers. “Rowr.”

“Ohh,” Phil adds playfully as you chuckle.

Stu smiles awkwardly and waves. “I got a question. _Um_ , you said when your shift ended. Does that mean you’re a nurse? Or a… a blackjack dealer?”

“You know this, I’m a stripper!”

“Mm-hm,” comes his strangled reply.

“Oh.” You dig into your pocket for the thong. “Is this, um… yours?” You hold it out, letting it dangle over a finger.

Jade giggles. “Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I wasn’t sure Stu could get it off without his hands, but he was insistent since I didn’t have a wedding garter.

“Anyway, technically I’m an escort, but stripping’s a great way to meet the clients.”

You drop the thong onto the coffee table and slyly wipe your finger on the side of Phil’s leg.

“Smart.” Phil smiles over at Stu.

“Astute,” you add before Stu stutters out a, “Savvy.”

“But that’s all in the past, now that I’m married to a _doctor_.”

“I’m just a dentist.”

You’re just about to chastise his modesty when the front door explodes. “Las Vegas Police—freeze!”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

After taking your mug shots (where they only briefly relieve you of the cuffs despite your pleading to keep them off), they lead you to the bullpen like a barrel of monkeys. Alan trips and almost takes you down with him, and the aggressive male cop laughs.

Phil hooks his free hand into the corner of your elbow to steady you.

“Stay there,” the stumpy female cop says, pointing to a row of seats along a low divider wall separating the bullpen from some kind of waiting area.

You avoid eye contact with the other people seated, muttering, “That was fucking humiliating.”

“Yeah,” Alan says back.

“I’m talkin’ ’bout the ride here.” They shoved the four of you into the back seat, with you perched on both Phil and Alan’s legs like a fucking prized object. They’d already cuffed you in the apartment and wouldn’t take them off in the car, so when they— _purposefully_ —drove over a pothole, you couldn’t get your hands up to brace yourself against the sudden impact and ended up hitting your head against the roof.

Just thinking about that has your head throbbing. You reach up your right hand to tap the small bump, hauling up Phil’s connecting hand.

“Let me see.” He cups the back of your head, and with his free hand, pushes down on the bump.

“Ow!” You swat him away. “Why?”

(It also doesn’t help that Phil had his hands all over you on the drive over. He was trying to hold you steady but _still_.

(When was the last time he had his hands on you like that? There’s a very real possibility that it was last night, and you’re caught between feeling relieved and robbed.

(God damn Phil. And Tracy. They put all these ideas in your head about sex with him when all you want to do is move on already.)

“Is it lunchtime yet?” Alan asks. “I’m hungry.”

“Oh _shit_ ,” Stu hisses. “We’re not gonna find Doug and make it back in time.”

“Relax.” Phil gestures to the payphone to his right. “We’ll just call Tracy and make up some bullshit excuse about staying an extra day.” He digs out two quarters and hands it to you. “Here, you call her.”

“No, I’m mad at her.” You’d cross your arms to drive your point home if you could.

He sighs and moves to make the call.

He keeps tugging on the cuffs between you, so you pull yourself to your feet to avoid getting your wrist carved off.

“We’re going to jail,” you mutter to him as he dials, “and some tatted up, hulk of a criminal named Kelly’s gonna make me their bitch.”

“Shh. Nobody’s going to jail.”

“Look around you, dumbass.” You try to gesture to the precinct but only manage to wave your hand in front of you where a cop with a clipboard is leading a group of kids toward you.

“So after we take the mugshots, we bring ’em on down here where they wait to be interviewed by the arresting officers. Trust me, kids—you do _not_ wanna be sitting on these benches. We call this place Loserville.” As he leads the giggling kids away, one lags behind and flips open his cell phone to take a photo of Alan, who kicks it away.

Phil exclaims loudly on the phone, but you tune out the one-sided conversation.

This is the most frustrating thing about him. He has no problem bitching about the smallest thing that inconveniences him but makes light of the big stuff.

(For god’s sake, he took up a teaching position at Harrison Middle School because of the six hour days and the school holidays, and whines whenever he has to stay another hour or two after school for bus duty, parent-teacher interviews or staff meetings.)

An officer calls out your names, and Phil hurries to end the call. Stu and Alan get to their feet, only to see Alan’s arms are crossed over his chest.

The next few moments are a confused tangle of arms—Alan spins, Stu steps over your hands, Phil shoves you under them—until Alan’s arms are free. But as you start heading over to the interview room, Alan bumps into your ass _with his own_.

You exhale.

The female cop who arrested you leans against the long table in the middle of the small room, key in hand. Thank fuck. You catch the inscription on her nameplate— _Garden_ —as she uncuffs each of you, and she gestures to the opposite side of the table. “Sit.”

You take the seat between Phil and Stu. “Um—”

“Shh.” She doesn’t even lift her head to glare at you from below her brows before returning back to the manila folder and clipboard in front of her.

You twist your mouth and brace your elbows on the arms of the chair. To the right, there’s the typical one-way mirror, where Alan’s staring at his reflection and tonguing his teeth. It’s unnecessarily bright in here, what with the pair of low-hanging overhead lights above you and the panels lining along the tops of all four walls. Aside from the earth-toned furniture, everything’s so _blue_.

Between Phil’s warm tan and sandy hair, and shirt and devastating eyes, he blends right in.

He meets your gaze and frowns, rubbing his wrist. He mouths, _What?_

You mouth back nonsense.

His nose crinkles and he shakes his head.

It takes everything in you to keep the corners of your lips from lifting, and you repeat the silent gibberish.

“What?” he whispers.

“Shh!”

You snort, shoulders shaking as you smother your laugh.

(In the mirror, Stu raises his brows, watching the both of you from where he sits to your left.)

Phil rolls his eyes, but a slight smile graces his lips, and he pinches your pinky.

The other cop enters, and you yank your hand away.

“We got some good news and we got some bad news.” Instead of sitting down, he remains standing, like he’s executing some power move. “The good news is, we found your Mercedes.”

Phil and Stu exclaim.

“It’s over at impound right now.” He reads from the file in his hand. “We picked it up at, uh, 5AM this morning. Parked in the middle of Las Vegas Boulevard.”

Phil rubs the top of his lip and mutters, “That’s weird.”

“Yeah! It is _weird_. There’s also a note… that says, uh, ‘Couldn’t find a meter, but here’s four bucks.’” He throws the napkin down in front of Stu, and you lean over.

Shit, that’s your handwriting.

“The _bad_ news is…” He takes a seat across from you and Stu, as if ready to bask in this, and you gleam his name. _Franklin_. “We can’t get you in front of a judge until Monday morning.”

“Oh, n—uh,” Phil says, “Officer, that’s just… impossible. No, we need to be in L.A. by tomorrow for a wedding.”

Garden leans forward. “You stole a police car.”

Franklin points to her in agreement.

“We didn’t… _steal_ anything,” Stu says. “Um—we found it.”

“If anything we deserve a reward or something,” Alan adds. “Like a trophy?”

“Ignore him,” you say, “he’s a r’tard.”

The cops squint at you, and Phil jabs your foot with his with a nervous laugh. “Inside joke, you wouldn’t…”

“I see assholes like you everyday,” Franklin says.

“Every _fuckin’_ day,” Garden adds.

He lifts his arms and jerks them in a weird robot imitation. “‘Let’s go to Vegas, we’ll all get drunk and laid!’” They both hoot and holler. “‘Let’s steel a cop car because it’d be really fuckin’ funny.’”

“Yeah!” She drops the act. “Think you gonna get away with it—not up in here!”

“ _Not up in here!_ ” he booms and the small room practically trembles.

“Oh, uh…” Phil rubs his mouth. “Sir? If I may, um—I’m assuming that that squad car belongs to one of you.” At Franklin’s affirmation, he continues, all silver-tongue and oozing charm. “Yeah. Look, I’m not a cop. I’m no hero.”

You lean your forehead against your hand to hide the roll of your eyes.

“I’m a school teacher. But if one of my kids went missing on a field trip… that’d look really bad on me.”

Franklin shoots daggers at him. “What are you getting at?”

“Yeah, Phil,” Stu mutters, “what are you getting at?”

“No one wants to look bad. We gotta get to a wedding, and you guys don’t need people talking about how some obnoxious tourists borrowed your squad car last night.”

The cops share a look.

“Look, the point is, I think we can work out a deal—discreetly, of course, ma’am. Whaddya say?”

Garden slides over the clipboard and points to something. Franklin laughs, and Stu takes it as a good sign because he giggles too.

You frown, looking over at Phil to see him smiling.

“Uh, let me ask you a question.” Franklin sweeps his gaze over you all. “Do, uh, any of you have a heart condition or… anything like that?”


	6. one-hit knockout

“Okay, kids,” Franklin says, voice brimming with excitement. “You’re in for a real treat today.”

You’re standing at the front of the briefing room full with those kids from earlier. Stu’s centre stage at the head of the line while you’re off to the side, taking up the rear. Phil’s smiling like a fucking idiot beside you, but your gut is churning.

By the whiteboard behind you, Garden smirks. Two other cops are placed in the room. That damn Officer Loserville blocking the door, and another random officer in the back corner, monitoring the four of you.

This can’t be good.

“These people have kindly volunteered to demonstrate… how a stun gun is used to subdue a suspect.”

As the kids coo in interest, the four of you turn to him with confused protests.

He picks up the taser from the table in the first row. “Now, there’s two ways to use a stun gun.” He approaches Stu, who’s muttering something to Alan on his other side. “Up close and personal.” Franklin zaps him right in the neck and Stu shrieks as he goes down.

You throw your hands over your mouth as the little devils laugh.

Phil backs into you, murmuring, “What the _fuck_!”

“Or you can shoot it from a distance.” Franklin attaches something to the taser. “Now, do I have any volunteers—you wanna come up here and do some _shootin’_? Huh?”

You step out from Phil as hands flash up. Even Officer Loserville has his hand up.

Phil crosses his arms, shaking his head, and pushes back into your space.

Franklin picks a deceivingly sweet little girl and blindly curls two fingers back. “Let’s go, come on.”

Next in line, Alan steps forward.

“Not you, fat Jesus, slide it on back.” He points to you just as you take another step away from Phil. “You. Scaredy cat.”

You choke out a small sound of protest.

“No,” Phil says, stepping in front of you again. “No—do me instead.”

“Aw, now ain’t that sweet?” Smirking, Franklin shrugs. “All right, come on, pretty boy.”

Your hammering heart vandalises your lungs, and you grab the back of Phil’s shirt. This can’t be happening. He squeezes your hand, and you tangle sweaty fingers with his as he drags his feet forward, tugging you along.

Fuck today. Fuck _Franklin_.

Your hands fall away when you reach Alan’s side. Phil throws a look at you over his shoulder, and whatever he sees on your face has him smile reassuringly.

Your heart thumps where it’s lodged in the base of your throat.

Meanwhile, Franklin bends to the girl’s level. “All right, now, it’s real simple. All you gotta do is point, aim and shoot. All right?”

“Okay—” Phil breaks off with a nervous chuckle. He holds up his hands and puts on the charm. “You don’t really wanna do this.”

You cross your arms, muscles pulled tight to hide the tremble in them, and roll your lips together.

Franklin’s braced his hands on his knees, and he casts an encouraging look toward her. “You can do this—just focus.”

“Don’t listen to this manic,” Phil continues. “Let’s think this through.”

“Finish him!” Franklin shouts.

She shoots—you gasp—and the metal prongs latch onto Phil’s groin.

“Oh, _fu_ —!” He howls along to the sound of static until he drops with a heavy thud.

You fall to your knees behind him, a hand in his hair and the other clutching his elbow. His face is red as he continues to cup himself and writhe in pain. “Holy shit, Phil!”

He rolls onto his back, his pupils pinpoint, mouth set in a grimace.

Garden scoops down and yanks out the prongs.

“That was great,” Franklin says. “Let me do this one real quick, okay?”

A million stabbing pricks burst from your shoulder, and the muscles spasm as your whole body seizes. You collapse beside Phil. Your mouth is frozen on a gasp—even your ears freeze or something because you can’t hear a fucking thing—as Alan stands above you, expressionless. Clapping.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Franklin drops you off at the impound lot twenty minutes outside of Downtown Las Vegas, but Phil stops you as the others head toward the office to claim the Mercedes. “Hey.”

You cross your arms. “Um, thanks. For before. You didn’t have to.”

His eyes are probing as they scan your face. “Are you okay?”

You shrug, dropping your gaze. “’M fine. You?”

“Fine.”

You nod half-heartedly, gaze tracing the pavement’s mess of cracks and motor oil.

“Great.” You’re about to head off in the direction where Stu’s voice rises and falls, ranting about the cops, but Phil clears his throat.

“Listen, I was thinking…” He rubs the back of his neck, and jeez, is he _nervous_? “Helluva day, huh?”

You squint. “I’ve had better.”

He starts to chuckle but it breaks off with a breath. “Remember when we got detained at that music festival?”

“No thanks to you.”

“Come on, it was a _joke_.”

“Hope it was still funny when they got you to squat and cough.”

He sniggers. “It was pretty funny.”

Of course he thinks so.

Rolling your eyes, you head off to the mobile office where Alan sits, staring forlorn out into the distance with slight marks on his forehead from where the taser got him. Stu’s pacing the space in front of the steps where you sit, working himself up over what happened at the station. You’re rubbing your face as Phil plops himself beside you.

“I think I have electrical burns on my neck,” Stu says, “and I’m suing. Fuck those guys! You hear me? That was bullshit, I’m telling everybody we stole a cop car.”

“They let us go—who cares?” Phil says.

“I care! You can’t just do that—you can’t just _tase_ people. Because you-you think it’s funny! That’s police brutality.”

You squint up at him. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Doctor White Boy?”

Stu heaves a calming breath. “I’m getting a soda. You guys want anything?”

“No,” Phil says, and Stu walks off. “Alan, you okay?”

“I’m just worried. What if something happened to Doug, something bad?”

“Ah, come on, you can’t think like that.”

“I mean, what if he’s dead?”

Your breath hitches. Of all the scenarios, you never…

“I can’t afford to lose anybody close to me again, it’s—hurts too much. So upset when my grandpa died.”

Phil says, “Oh, I’m s… How’d he die?”

“World War II.”

“Died in battle?”

“No, he was skiing in Vermont. It was just during World War II.”

You cough to hide a chuckle and Phil nudges you.

“Alan…” he says. “Doug is fine.”

“Well, why hasn’t he called?”

“Maybe his phone’s dead,” you say. “He’s always forgetting his charger.”

“We’re gonna figure it out,” Phil adds.

Stu comes back, popping open a can of coke. “I’ll tell you another thing. Six-to-one odds our car is beat to shit.”

“Stu, not now,” Phil says as you make a cut-throat motion.

“No, seriously, how much do you wanna bet it’s like, fucked beyond recognition?”

“That’s enough.” Phil gets up and murmurs to him, “Look, Alan’s seriously worried, okay? Let’s not freak him out any more.”

Stu approaches, passing you a contrite look. “I’m sorry, Alan. You know what? We’ll search the car for clues and… everything’s gonna be okay.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Miraculously, there is not a scratch on the car, and as Phil drives back to Downtown, you all search it for clues. Stu finds a cigar from the glove compartment, Alan a boot from his side of the car, and you an open condom wrapper on the floor. As you’re wondering who fucked in here last night, Alan pulls something else from the floor.

“What is this, a snakeskin?” He swings it from pinched fingers and it drops onto Stu’s shoulder.

“Oh, come on—Ew!” he shouts as it falls to his lap.

“That’s a used condom, Alan,” Phil says in his reprimanding teacher voice.

“Oh _god_. Blech!” Stu throws it back and it hits Alan in the face.

“Get it out of the car,” Phil says.

“Gross, it’s wet,” Stu laments.

Alan giggles. “I don’t wanna touch it.”

You’re laughing throughout all this, until he swings it dangerously close to your face, and you shriek.

He drapes it over Phil’s shoulder.

“’Ey!” Phil shouts. “Come on.” He tries to flinch it off and the car starts swerving. “Get it off me— _I got jizz on me_!”

All three of you are giggling with each other as Phil struggles to roll down the window and get the condom off of him, all the while keeping the car from straying into a utility pole.

He paws at it. “ _Jeez_ us Christ, guys!”

“Get it out,” Stu says with a goofy grin.

“Fuck!” he shouts, throwing it out the window with such a force the car veers onto a dirt patch off the side of the road. “ _Ohh my god_.” The car breaks hard and he rounds on you. “All right, what the _fuck_ , man?!” The car shudders from his bellow. “We gotta get this shit together, guys!”

Chastised and sobered, you all nod. You open your mouth, about to suggest a plan, when some kind of knocking sound comes from behind you.

“What was that?” Alan asks just as it sounds again.

“It’s in the trunk.” Stu’s eyes widen.

You swear. “Doug?!”

“Doug’s in the trunk!”

Phil and Stu bolt out of the car, and you scramble over the front seats to follow.

“Open it! Open it!” Stu shouts as Phil fumbles with the keys and you hop from foot to foot. “Open it!”

“Okay, okay, okay.” The trunk opens and the three of you grin down—A naked Asian man leaps out and latches onto Phil’s head, wailing on him with a crowbar. “Oh god!”

“Shit!” you hiss. Both you and Stu give them a wide bearing, hesitating to grab the stranger as Phil stumbles around. You wince at the unrelenting sound of steel on flesh. Fuck.

“Please!” Alan cries. “Please! Please stop!”

Shit. Fuck.

Phil manages to shoulder him off and you dart to Phil. You hold him steady as he hunches over, an arm to his back. “Are you okay?!” You turn in time for the man whack Stu in the crotch and beat him until he goes down. “Oh my god! Stop it!”

The man whips around, weapon whirling to smash you in the right bicep so hard you crash into Phil, and you both fall to the ground. He topples onto you, and your body explodes with pain as a burst of stars fill your eyes.

“Whoa!” Alan shrieks. “I’m with you, I’m with you!”

Your pulse thrums in your bicep, each a painful throb. The unforgiving desert heat beats down on you, and the smell of dirt, sweat and blood mix in a heady concoction and fills your smarting head. You weakly push Phil off with your good arm, but he doesn’t budge.

“You gonna fuck on me?” comes the man’s high-pitched utter.

“Nobody’s gonna fuck on you! We’re on your side. I hate Godzilla! I hate him too. I hate him! He destroys cities! Please!” Alan heaves a breath and says softly, “This isn’t your fault. I-I’ll get you some pants.”

The man throws the crowbar at Alan’s face and takes off.

Groaning, you push again, and Phil crawls off of you with a grunt, blood pooling from the cut on his bottom lip from where he collided with your head.

“What the fuck was _that_?!” he shouts.

You’re shaking as you roll to your hand and knees, and you stagger after him into the shade provided by the car.

“I have internal bleeding,” Stu says in a choked voice behind you. “Somebody call 911.”

“That was some fucked up _shit_ ,” Phil snarls. “Who was that guy? He was so _mean_.”

You’re lying spread eagle and staring up at the clear, blue sky, clothes caked in dirt and skin sticky with it. You clench your right fist, muscles protesting every movement, and there’s a pain on your hip where Phil landed against you.

“Guys, there’s something I need to tell you.” Alan pants. “Last night on the roof, before we went out… I slipped something in our Jägermeister.”

You roll onto your left side and up on an elbow. He avoids your gaze as he slumps against the front wheel.

Phil, in a similar position beside him, squawks, “What?”

“I’m sorry, I fudged up, guys.”

Stu hoists himself onto his hands. “You drugged us?”

“No, I-I didn’t drug you. I was told it was ecstasy.”

He did this. Alan did this to you.

“Well, who told you it was ecstasy?” Phil asks.

“The guy I bought it from at the liquor store.”

“Why would you give us ecstasy?” Stu asks.

“I wanted everybody to have a good time, and I knew you guys wouldn’t take it. It was just one hit each. I used to do three hits a night!”

You do a double take as Stu shouts, “But it wasn’t ecstasy, Alan, it was _roofies_!”

“You think I knew that, Stu? The guy I bought it from seemed like he was a real straight shooter.”

“I’m sorry, you mean the drug dealer at the liquor store wasn’t a good guy?”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Alan’s eyes widen as they meet your glare. He starts to scramble, but you lurch forward and grab the leg of his pants, and he starts shrieking.

Phil hauls you against him and you fall into his lap with the momentum. He has his arms wrapped around you, squeezing you tight, and you whimper at the blast of pain in your arm. “Shit.” His hold on you loosens. “Let’s just calm down!”

“You fucking calm down”—Stu throws a finger Alan’s way—“he drugged us! [Name] has the right idea.” He pulls to his feet but hunches over. “I lost a _tooth_. I married a whore!”

“How dare you,” Alan yells, “she’s a nice lady.”

He stands over him. “You are such a _fucking_ moron.”

“Your language is offensive.”

“Fuck. You!”

“You’re both morons,” you say. And Doug’s still missing. You squirm from Phil’s grasp, pull to your feet and cradle your arm.

Phil steps in as a buffer between them. “All right, let’s just take a deep breath. Okay?”

Stu’s posture is lopsided as he limps toward you, and you put a hand to his back.

“All right, seriously, this is a good thing,” Phil says. “At least it’s not some stranger who drugged us for _god knows what reason_.”

Stu shrugs you off. “Yeah, you’re right, Phil, it’s totally a good thing. We’re so much better off now.” He hobbles back to them and braces hands on his knees. “Here’s something I would like to remind you two of: our best friend _Doug_ is probably face down in a ditch right now with a meth-head butt-fucking his corpse.”

“That’s highly unlikely,” Alan says.

“It’s true.”

“Does not help.” Phil nudges him back to you. “All right, let’s get our shit together, guys.” He picks his aviators off the floor. “Let’s go back to the hotel, and I’m gonna make a couple calls. Maybe Doug’s back there, maybe he’s asleep. Come on!” He slams the trunk closed. “Let’s go!”

“Stu?” Alan snaps his fingers. “Little help?”

Stu shoves his outreaching hand. “ _Shut up_.”

With a sigh, you round the car to Phil’s side where he’s waiting with the door open. You’re about to climb in, but he cups your face and you stop dead. His thumb swipes your brow gently. Your eyes flutter shut. His touch whispers down to your neck, tilting your head back.

You jerk away at the dull thump from the other side of the car, followed by an, “Ow.”

As Stu apologises, Phil stares at you, and the hint of concern softening his features washes away with the hard clench of muscle in his jaw.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You shuffle down the hallway of the hotel toward your room, your body screaming against every movement, and mind snagged on the tender way he touched you.

You can’t let him get too close again. You barely crawled away from him the first time, battered and torn open—you wouldn’t survive it a second time.

“Wait, guys,” Alan whispers just short of your door. “Guys. What about the tiger? What if he got out?”

“Oh fuck,” Phil hisses. “I keep forgetting about the god damn tiger. How the fuck did it get in there?”

“I don’t know.” Stu’s voice resonates in the hallway. “Because I don’t _remember_.” He casts a pointed look Alan’s way.

Phil hushes him and fits the keycard in the slot as Alan helpfully reminds Stu that one of the side effects of roofies is memory loss.

“You are literally too stupid to insult,” Stu remarks.

“Thank you.”

You snort.

Phil turns back to you as the door unlocks with a ping. “Hey.” He opens the door and you shuffle in after him. Phil Collins’ croon echoes over the grim beat of ‘In the Air Tonight’. “Did we leave the music on?”

Alan slams the door.

“Hey. Shh.” Phil scans the place as he practically tip toes forward. “Don’t make any sudden movements.” He rounds the corner toward the bathroom. “Unh!”—He bumps into a big guy wearing a suit and fedora, and scrambles back—“Whoa!”

Stu shrieks.

You jump.

“Who the hell are you?” Phil shouts.

“No, who are you?” the big guy asks.

“Quiet, quiet,” comes a voice from the piano. He spins around dramatically, and you all squint at him.

“Mike Tyson?” Phil asks.

He holds up his hands. “Shh, this is my favourite part coming up right now.”

You draw closer as he mimes the dramatic drum solo and sings an off key, “ _I can feel it in the air tonight_ … Need a chorus line, guys.”

“ _Oh Lord_ ,” Alan mumbles, stooping and rocking, sort of like a fish flopping in slow motion.

“ _But I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life…_ One more time, guys.”

“ _Oh Lord_ ,” you chorus—and Tyson right hooks Alan in a one-hit knockout.

You shout, grabbing Stu’s arm as he yells, “Fuck!”

“Oh Jesus!” Phil scrambles over to Alan’s unconscious body. He checks Alan’s pupils as you and Stu hover uselessly. “Oh fuck!” He looks up at Tyson. “Why… Why did you do that?”

The music turns off, and the big guy—who seems to be Tyson’s bodyguard—throws the remote away. “Mr. Tyson would like to know why is his tiger in your bathroom?”

Phil stands and throws his hands up, fumbling over his words, “Hold on, that was completely unnecessary—I’m a huge fan,” he adds and pretends to throw a punch. “When you knocked out Holmes, that was—”

The bodyguard’s stern eyes turn threatening. “Explain.”

As you and Phil detail that you were drugged and therefore have no memory of last night, they exchange skeptical glances.

“It’s true,” Stu adds. “We got in all kinds of trouble last night, and now we can’t find our friend. If you wanna kill us, go ahead because I don’t care anymore.”

“Stu,” Phil mutters, “what are you talking about?”

“I don’t care.”

You grimace and hook a thumb in his direction. “Don’t listen to him, he’s—”

You jump as the bodyguard interrupts, “Why the fuck would you wanna steal his tiger?”

Phil waves his arms around and says on a nervous laugh, “We tend to do dumb shit when we’re fucked up.”

“I don’t believe these guys, man,” Tyson mutters.

“Wai—Wait, how did you guys find us?”

“One of you dropped your jacket.” The bodyguard gestures with the jacket draped over his arm. “Found it in the tiger’s cage this morning.”

You hold out your hand, and he throws it to you as Stu says, “That’s Doug’s!”

“Yeah, Doug. His wallet and his room key is in there.”

“No, that’s our missing friend,” Phil says.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“Did you guys see him?” Stu asks.

“I was fast asleep,” Tyson says.

You dig in his pockets as they imply the tiger ate someone named Omar and Doug might’ve become a meal as well. But it wouldn’t eat Doug, right? He’s been on this disgusting juice cleanse for the wedding.

“Okay,” Phil says, “I know this is asking a lot, but do you think we could go to your house and look around, see if there’s any clues for our friend?”

“Absolutely,” the bodyguard says. “How else you think we’re gonna get the tiger back anyway?”

“I’m sorry?”

“We’re not gonna put it in the Bentley. You brought it here, you bring it back. What you think, about forty minutes?”

The bodyguard walks out, and Tyson follows but not before he turns back and points with a meaningful, “Don’t make me come back for him.”

Stu leans over to Phil and mutters, “That was Mike Tyson.”

“Yeah, no shit it was Mike Tyson.”

“I’m just saying. He’s still got it.”

You roll your eyes and push at the makeshift swing hanging from the ceiling made from some bedsheets and an ottoman.

Alan comes to with a groan and rolls over onto his back.

“Alan!” Stu calls softly, and you all kneel over him.

“Buddy, you okay?” Phil asks.

“Oh my god,” Stu says on a breath.

“Shit.” Phil’s hands hover over Alan’s face. “Where’d he get him? Hey.” He snaps his fingers as you and Stu prod Alan’s cheeks.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Stu kicks his leg from where he’s sitting on the edge of the dining table. “This does not seem fair.”

“It’s rock, paper, scissors,” Phil says, seated backward on the chair beside him. “There’s nothing more fair.”

Standing between them, you agree around a mouthful of your burger, smacking Phil’s hand away as he tries to pinch off another piece.

You’re all surrounding the small table that Room Service wheeled in, watching as Alan pushes roofies into a raw piece of steak—after nursing the cold slab of meat against his swelling left eye. You can only imagine what they thought when you ordered in four burgers and fries and a raw, uncooked steak.

(You don’t know how you feel about how easy it is to steal Phil’s fries as he takes the pickles from your burger. Especially since it reminds you of the time you both got high on weed and went to the retro-style diner where he promised you a life of pickles and fries. In your stoned mind, it was the most romantic declaration.)

“Alan should do it,” Stu says.

Phil hooks a thumb in Alan’s direction. “Alan took a punch from Mike Tyson. Come on. For Doug.”

Stu gestures to the plate, morose. “Why are you peppering the steak? You don’t know if tigers like pepper.”

“Tigers love pepper,” Alan says with the serious calmness of a doctor telling a patient they have two months to live. “They hate cinnamon.”

You chew slowly, squinting at him. “What about nutmeg?”

“Phil,” Stu says, “just—do it. You should do it.”

“I would, but you lost. It wouldn’t be right.”

Stu turns to you.

“Oh, I can’t—I’m allergic.”

He glares.

“Okay, I jammed five roofies in there.” Alan hands the steak to Stu. “Just go in there and throw it in to him.”

“Fine…”

He sulks off, and Phil says, “Make sure he eats the whole thing.”

As you salute him, Phil steals the last bite of your burger, shoving it into his mouth barely after your hand bounces against your forehead. “Hey!”

There’s a growl from the bathroom, and Phil pulls to his feet. Stu’s shriek is muffled before he comes out panting and shuts the door firmly behind him. He takes a deep breath and asks, calm as a millpond, “What do we do now?”

“We wait,” Alan says.


	7. lucky charm

You stare out at the purple sky as lights begin to flicker on around the city. You came in here to put Doug’s jacket away but the view pulled you in.

“Thought I’d find you in here.” Phil steps up beside you.

Stu’s tinkering on the piano from the main area, warbling about the tiger and apparently in the midst of writing a song.

Phil lets out a small sigh. “What happened to us?” You glance at him but he’s looking out the window. “We used to be so good.”

You make a feeble sound that’s supposed to be a laugh. “We fought all the time.”

He leans a shoulder against the floor-length window and smirks. “All I remember is the make-up sex.”

“We fought to the very end, but there was a point where the sex stopped.” You cross your arms, frowning at the horizon.

“Come on—we had some good times.”

You scoff through your nose. “Until you couldn’t handle that my career was more successful than yours.”

“Is that how you saw it?”

After your promotion, all you heard when you got home from work was how you were spending so much time there, and how he hates his own job. How else were you supposed to see it?

“Shit,” he says. “Baby, I was proud of you. Always was.”

He had a funny way of showing it. Your fingers grip your biceps. If he wasn’t complaining about your work hours, he was obsessing over how much time you’re spending with Doug compared to Phil—which is insane because you _work_ with Doug—and you’d go to bed with battle scars after a night of verbal punches.

He skims a finger down your arm.

You pull away, and a spark of hurt flashes across his face. “Stop.”

“Why?”

“Nothing’s changed.”

He drags a hand through his hair and desert dirt sprinkle to your feet. “These last three months have been a shit hole.”

“How about you pull yourself together? It’s not my job to pick up after you like your god damn mother.”

He exhales a snigger. “Get your head out of your ass, [Name]. You didn’t single-handedly break me; my life isn’t in complete shambles because of you—get the fuck over yourself.”

You clench your jaw and start for the door. “I don’t need this.”

“And there you go again—walking out when things get tough.”

You whip around. “Excuse me?”

He throws his arms out. “You bail when things don’t go your way.”

“You accused me of _cheating._ With Doug!”

“It was a joke!”

“It wasn’t, and you know how I know that? Because this is what you do—you brush off important things or make light of it like it doesn’t matter. But these feelings pile up and all hell breaks loose. Things weren’t _tough_ , Phil; they were impossible.” God, he thinks you were selfish for walking out? “I stayed for as long as I could, but we’re toxic together, and I can’t do it anymore.”

“Um, guys?” You both turn at the tentative knock on the door, and Stu sticks his head in. “Tiger’s down.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You, Phil and Stu heave the unconscious tiger out of the bathroom and onto the baggage cart that Alan’s keeping steady. After tossing a bed sheet over it, you lead them out of the room, with Stu and Alan steering the cart, and Phil bringing up the rear.

“By the way, we’re all gonna die,” Stu says cheerfully over the sound of snores.

There’s a dull bump behind you and whispering, and you hush and hurry them. You and Phil help them push it into the elevator, and you somehow find yourself boxed between the side wall and the tiger, and between Stu and Phil.

In front of you, Stu quietly pleads the elevator not to stop—effectively jinxing you—and curses as it beeps and slows.

A family races in with two young kids. Upon seeing the dishevelled state you’re all in, the dad tries to make a joke about a “rough night,” (to which Stu politely chuckles) and the mother wisely pulls her daughter close to her.

“What’s this?” The boy reaches out for the sheet, but Alan pushes his hand away with a low, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.”

Phil scowls down at him. “Take it easy, little man. Don’t wanna be touching that.”

The father gently chastises the boy.

You rest your shoulder against the wall and stare at the back of Stu’s head.

“So what do you guys got under there?” the father asks.

“Just a whole bunch of ‘mind your own business,’” Phil says.

“Whoa.” Stu turns back and aims a frown at you—as if _you_ told Phil to be an ass to perfect strangers. “Easy, Phil.”

“He’s correct,” the father says, “my fault.”

“You okay?” Stu murmurs.

“What’s your”—Phil stammers—“We just ride an elevator? Why, is this Jeopardy? What the _fuck_ is this bullshit?”

“Please,” the father says, “with the language.”

“Yes,” Alan says. “I fully agree.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

“I fuckin’ hate you assholes,” you hiss, glowering at the back of Phil’s head.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” he says, and you fucking swear he’s smirking from the driver’s seat. “Suck a dick, loser.”

You muffle a yelp and slam yourself against the side of the car because you _swear_ , the tiger just moved against you. “Please,” you say on a whimper. “Someone switch seats with me.”

“Sorry, [Name],” Alan says. “Rules are rules.”

You poke the back of Stu’s head from his middle seat. He snorts. “Forget it.”

Alan asks about the next Halley’s comet as if you aren’t a second away from being mauled to death.

This is complete bullshit. You push up against the car door as much as you can and drape the sheet over your head so that if it wakes up, it won’t be able to smell you under its own scent. In fact, you hope it does wake up. You hope it eats all three of their asses.

That’d show them.

—Okay, this time the tiger _definitely_ nudged you.

“… So if you guys know if there’s gonna be one…”

There’s a grumble, and you pull the sheet down from your head as the car drives into a highway tunnel.

The tiger blinks, swaying its head.

You scream.

The tiger roars.

Three idiot heads swivel back with wide eyes.

The car explodes with shouts.

The car swerves to the right and the tiger’s ass bumps into you. It roars again and swipes a paw at you, but you duck just in time.

Phil yells, the car veers left and crashes into the side of the bus in the next lane, and you ram into the tiger.

Above all the shouting, you screech, “Pull over!”

The car halts on the side of the tunnel, and they all dive out. You’re trying to climb over the front seat when someone grabs your arms. Phil drags you out, and you wrap your arms around his neck because you can’t feel your legs right now. He slams the door shut behind you and stumbles back.

Stu and Alan are still freaking out, and you’re basically hanging off of Phil as he clutches you tight. Both your hearts are racing, and you jolt against each other from your violent pants.

Alan dances in his spot, looking like he’s about to cry.

Stu stares at the tiger clawing at the seats, mindlessly screaming.

You shift on your feet, and your left arm slips against something wet on Phil’s neck. You stagger back. Is that—? “You’re bleeding!”

Phil puts a hand to the three gashes. “Stu! Stu, it got me! Stu!”

“You got clawed!” Stu shouts.

“Fuck!”

“You’re bleeding!”

“Fuck!”

The tiger growls, glaring at you like it fucking hates you. It spins around and kicks out the back window.

You all jump back as it sticks its head out and bares its yellowing teeth at you.

“Okay, okay”—Phil holds his arms out in surrender—“okay.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Twenty minutes later, you’re pushing the car into a gated community lined with mansions.

“God damn this fucking hill,” you mutter through pants. Your sweaty hand slips on the trunk, slapping the number plate, and you almost bang your head on the edge of the trunk.

Phil grunts to your left. “Keep pushing.”

“The fuck do you think I’m doing?”

Stu shushes the both of you from your right, and the tiger makes a guttural sound from where it’s chilling out the window beside Alan, who leaps away from the steering wheel and hyperventilates. “I can’t do it.”

Phil hisses, “Get your fucking hand back in there and steer the car!”

“I’m too nervous,” he whispers back.

“Alan,” Stu says in an encouraging tone. “We need you, buddy. This is your time to shine, okay?”

“Okay, yeah.” He shoves his hand back in. “Daddy’s gonna kill me.”

“That’s it,” Stu says.

“That’s good,” Phil says. “Keep it straight.”

You reach steel gates with Mike Tyson’s initials marked below two golden boxing gloves. Alan presses the bell as the three of you take a brief rest.

The camera perched on the brick column above blinks red, and you glare up at it before the gate creaks open.

Phil slaps your elbow. “Let’s go.”

You groan, dragging your feet to the back of the car. You push it up the driveway to the front of the grand mansion. The tiger makes a gruff sound and watches you climb the stairs to the front door.

Alan pushes the door bell.

“You’re late,” the bodyguard says in lieu of a greeting.

Phil shrugs. “Whatever, man, we had to push it the last mile.”

“Come on in. Mike’s got something he wants to show you.”

“Thing’s out of control, man—seriously, you gotta put it down.”

The foyer of the mansion is bright and open. A staircase on either side lead up to the second floor. Potted plants are scattered here and there.

He leads you past the grand piano and to the left where it’s dimmer and cosier in the living room. Tyson’s seated on the L-shaped leather couch with a french bulldog puppy on his lap.

“Take a seat.”

There’s a confused moment where you all try to scoot around each other to take a seat. Alan proclaims he wants to sit next to Phil, who automatically drops into the space beside Tyson and the arm of the couch. Alan takes the one next to Tyson’s other side, you sit beside Alan, and Stu takes the other end.

“When we got back, we took a look at the security cameras,” Tyson says.

Phil’s voice breaks as he says, “Great,” and turns to look back at the bodyguard, who turns the TV on.

In black and white, five figures stagger along the grass in front of the mansion. Doug’s cackling through the speakers, and you smile.

On screen, Stu’s trying to get Doug’s attention, whispering, “This is how you walk, this is how you walk.” Phil’s taking a swig from a bottle as you shush them.

“Oh!” Stu exclaims in relief. “It’s Doug!”

“Oh,” Phil says on a sigh, falling back onto the couch, “thank god he’s alive.”

“That’s our buddy,” Stu explains. “That’s who—That’s who we’ve been missing. We’re—This is great.”

“We’re all best friends,” Alan adds.

“Why don’t you just pay attention?” Tyson says. “I don’t have all night.”

“Yeah, of course,” Phil says. “Of course.”

The scene changes to a shot of the pool. Someone’s laughing as Alan appears, stepping over large stones by the poolside. “Hey, guys. Check it out. Watch this.”

Beside you, Alan giggles. “That’s me; I’m on TV.”

The screen shifts into a wide shot, and you spot Doug and yourself on the opposite side of the pool, with Stu and Phil adjacent, the latter of whom holding the leash attached to the tiger.

“I’ve never been on TV before.”

The screen cuts back to Alan, who’s taking a piss into the pool with drunken laughter in the background.

“Really?” Phil says, cutting a look to him. “Really, Alan?”

“Yeah, I was, uh…”

Doug’s voice cuts through. “You’re gonna overflow the pool, man.”

Alan shifts beside you. “Maybe I… Should I wait outside?”

“I think that’s a good idea, Alan,” Tyson says.

“Yep.” He steps around your and Stu’s legs.

“Don’t touch anything out there, either,” the bodyguard says.

After Alan’s gone, Stu says, “You know what? He’s not our good fr… We don’t know him that well.”

The video next shows the tiger leading five of you down the driveway toward the flashing lights of the cop car beyond the gates. Stu’s still holding his bottle of beer and pats your back as you hold onto Phil’s belt loop from behind. Doug’s jogging on the spot and pumping his fists in quiet excitement, and you’re all snickering.

“By the way, where you get that cop car from?” Tyson asks.

“We, uh, stole it from these dumbass cops,” Stu says.

“Fucking dumbasses,” you mutter.

“Nice!” Tyson grins, and Phil and Stu laugh it up. “High-five that one.” He holds out a hand and Stu leans over you to meet him. “Yeah, that’s nice.”

On screen, Phil guides the tiger into the back of the cop car.

“You know, I just have to say… I have never seen a more beautiful, elegant, just regal creature.”

You roll your eyes. _Yeah, okay, Phil. Why don’t you just suck his dick?_

“Pretty kitty, such a pretty kitty.”

At the sound of your voice, you glance at the TV again and—“Oohhh myyy goooood,” you say on a groan.

Phil chuckles with surprise. “Oh shit.”

You’re bent over and cooing at the tiger through the window, and Phil’s basically humping your ass—to the great amusement of your friends. Stu’s holding onto the gate and falls down laughing.

And to your utter mortification, Drunk You turns around and gropes Phil’s ass as he starts making out with you, the both of you reaching porn-level moans as Alan projectile vomits over the back of the car.

Thankfully, the screen goes blank, and the bodyguard says, “That’s all we got.”

Stu clears his throat.

Someone shifts on the leather.

You can’t look anyone in the eye.

“This was… hugely helpful,” Stu says. “Really. Because now we know that our buddy Doug… was with us at 3:30, totally alive.”

“Thanks again, champ,” Phil adds. “And, uh, again, we are… so sorry we stole your tiger.”

“Don’t worry about it, man. Like you said, we all do dumb shit when we’re fucked up.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You’re staring out of the car window, picking at the torn leather seat and replaying that god damned video in your head. You don’t dare to check, but you’re sure Phil keeps shooting you discreet looks from the seat in front of you where he’s resting his forehead on a fist.

“You know,” Stu says from the driver’s seat, “everyone says Mike Tyson is such a badass… but I think he’s kind of a sweetheart.”

“I think he’s mean,” Alan says beside you.

“All right,” Phil says. “I think it’s officially time we call Tracy.”

“Hallelujah!” Stu says. “ _Finally_ , _Phil_ says something that makes sense.”

“I mean, we don’t have much of a choice. And who knows, maybe she’s heard from Doug.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time.”

(Lie.)

The car stops at a traffic light as Phil continues, “We just need to be completely honest, we need to tell her everything.”

Stu lifts a finger. “We don’t have to tell her everything. I mean, we can leave out the stuff about me marrying a hooker.”

“Or the fucking video,” you mutter.

“Just stay focused on Doug,” he finishes.

“What am I gonna tell my dad about this car?”

Phil turns around, bracing his elbow on the back rest and almost trapping your fingers. “Alan, relax. It’s just the inside—come on, I got a guy in L.A. who’s great with interior—”

A deafening bang hits you and your right shoulder explodes with pain. You lurch into Alan as chunks of glass strike the side of your face. You’re all screaming over the sound of rubber scraping over asphalt as the SVU that collided into you continues forward, forcing the Mercedes across the road. You jolt again as the Mercedes rams into a pole, and a burst of light blinds you, smoke filling your desperate lungs.

A jarring creak from above, a moment before a sign slices through the roof and pins your leg down.

(You’re lucky it didn’t fall any further or it would’ve sliced it right off.)

“Oh _Jee-zus_!” Phil exclaims.

“Oh my god,” Stu says through a moan and turns around. “Are you guys okay?”

“What the fuck?” Phil hisses.

“It got you!” Alan points to your leg. “It got [Name]!”

From behind the giant stripper-shaped sign, Phil whips around. “Can you feel your feet?”

You wiggle your toes, panting. “Yeah.”

He looks to Stu, who’s staring wide-eyed at you. “Should we lift it?”

At your nod, Stu says, “We can try.”

On the count of three, you all heave the sign up enough for you to quickly shuffle out from under it. Your leg protests weakly with a sharp throb.

“I know that guy,” Alan says, and you follow his line of sight to an Asian man watching you from the front of the Mercedes. “That’s the guy from the trunk.”

He trains an ominous stare at the four of you. “Get out of the car. Please.”

“Whoa-whoa-wait,” Stu mumbles. “Those are the guys that shot Eddie.”

You squint at the other approaching figures. Steel Pipe and Baseball Bat? Shit.

The guy from the trunk seems to be the leader, because he says something and claps his hand, and the two guys approach.

“Listen…” Phil starts, but one of them reaches in and yanks him out.

“Let’s go!”

“Oh— _okay_.”

Stu’s next, who complains loudly, “Ow! I have whiplash!”

Alan crawls over the seat and puts up a fight as they take him. You struggle to follow his lead, and the guy manhandles you as he hauls you out. “Hey—ow! Watch it, you— _ow_.”

“Hey,” Phil shouts, “take it easy, _take it easy_!”

You favour your good leg, panting and leaning against the Mercedes, as the leader holds up a bag that looks similar to Alan’s.

“I want my purse _back_ , assholes.”

“What—your purse?” Phil asks, leaning against the SUV across from you.

“That’s not a purse, it’s a satchel!” Alan hisses next to you.

“It’s a purse! ’Kay?” the guy says. “And _you_ steal from wrong guy.”

“Wait a second, wait a second,” Phil says. “We stole from _you_?”

“Okay, you know what?” Stu says. “We don’t remember _anything_ that happened last night, so help us out a little here!”

Steel Pipe steps up to his boss’ side. “Well, apparently… you guys met at a craps table late last night.” He points to Alan. “Yeah, you were on a real heater, and he played your hot streak. He ended up winning just under eighty grand.”

Phil looks mildly impressed. “No shit, eighty grand… Nice.”

Stu lifts his arms. “Okay, that’s… good!”

“He put the chips in his purse,” Steel Pipe continues, “and then you guys took off with it.”

“That’s—Doesn’t sound like us.”

The boss balls the bag in his hands, seething. “Mine had eighty… _thousand_ dollar inside. And this one?” He throws it down and stomps on it. “Nothing.”

“Hey, there are _Skittles_ in there!” Alan stomps over, but as soon as he’s close enough, Steel Pipe punches him in the gut. “Ow! Oh, not again.” He stumbles back to you, leaning his head against the vinyl of the car’s roof. Stu tries to console him as the boss giggles.

“Don’t let the beard fool you,” Stu says, “he’s a _child_.”

“It’s funny because he’s fat.”

“Now, look,” Stu says, “this was obviously a very simple misunderstanding. Alan picked up the wrong purse, it’s no big deal!”

“Okay, if it’s _no big deal_ , why, when I come after you guys”—he points to Phil—“ _he_ starts screaming like crazy and throw me in trunk? Huh?”

“No,” Stu murmurs.

“What, I did that?”

“Yeah,” Steel Pipe says, “you said he was your lucky charm… and you wanna take him home with you.”

Phil and Stu start laughing, and you shift. These guys are probably gangsters who had no problem running you off the road, and the idiots are blatantly laughing in their faces.

“Lucky charm,” Stu says.

“Oh, it’s just funny.”

The boss giggles along. “Ah… Fuck you.” The smile disappears, and his expression grows severe. “If you want to see your friend again, you get me my eighty grand.”

“What?” Stu squawks.

“Our friend?” Phil asks.

“You have Doug?”

“You know something about our friend?”

You try to push off the car with a wince. “Where is he?”

Baseball Bat taps the side of the SUV. In the backseat sits a man with a pillowcase over his head, struggling a little.

Your guys call his name and start to run to him, but the henchmen stop them.

“Doug, it’s okay!” Phil shouts, just before Baseball Bat shoves him back, and he stumbles into you.

“You chill out, Goatee!” Stu scolds Baseball Bat.

Phil holds up his hands. “Okay, okay, all right. Fine.”

“What do you want?” Stu asks, voice hard.

“Ah,” the boss says, “not so good now. Quid pro quo… douchebag.”

“ _What_?”

“Look, we’re very sorry,” Phil says. “But this is an easy fix. Alan! Where’s his purse?”

He shrinks from beside you. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you could—” Stu holds out his hand, as if desperate to latch onto an idea. “It’s in the hotel room, right?”

“Yeah, we can get it,” Phil says.

“We can get you the pur—You know what, we can even write you a cheque right now.”

“No cheques!” The boss rubs his thumb across two fingers. “Cash only.”

“There’s a _person_ in there!” Stu yells.

“Boring.” He fakes a yawn and starts to walk back to the SUV. “Take nap, come on.”

“Wait.” Phil turns. “Hey-hey.”

“I’m sorry we’re boring you!” Stu shouts, words sharp with sarcasm.

Phil pushes his face against the window. “Doug—Doug, it’s okay.”

“You kidnapped our friend! Kidnapper!”

“Come on. Wait. Wait, wait.” Phil tries and fails to stop the SVU as it reverses. “Hey. Oh no.”

Stu joins the idiocy as he grabs the front bumper. “You’re not going anywhere. Stop! _Stop_.” He throws out his arms. “Run me over.” The SUV inches forward and he flinches back. “Oh- _kay_. Whoa.”

All the while, Phil runs around like a kid at an aquarium, trying to look through the glass.

You sigh.

The back window rolls down, and they both approach it.

You can’t hear what’s being said, but then there’s this weird falsetto chanting, and then they drive off.

“Well, at least take the bag off his head!” Phil yells after them.

Stu throws his fists down. “Fuck!”


	8. who the hell is this?

“Where did he say to meet, again?”

“Big Rock in Mojave Desert.”

You’re seated on the couch back at the hotel, icing your thigh and inputting the place on Phil’s phone as the guys run around the trashed suite looking for the missing bag.

You have until dawn to find it. It’s gotta be here somewhere.

“Check the cabinets,” you call out.

Phil sweeps a bunch of junk off the kitchen island. “I already did!”

“Do it again, because sometimes you don’t look properly.”

He mutters something unintelligible and pushes the chicken minding its own business from the countertop. “Come on, get out of here.”

Stu gets back from the bedrooms and starts messing around with the couch cushions, barely stopping to let you shuffle out of his way.

Alan comes out of the bathroom. “Guys, I’m telling you, I looked for it this morning before we left. It’s not anywhere.”

“Fuck.” Phil exhales, bracing against the counter where there’s a Russian Roulette wheel. “Stu, how much you got in the bank?”

“About ten grand, maybe more. I was gonna use it for the wedding.” He slumps down beside you.

“Well, you’re already married, so we’re good there.” Phil ambles over and perches himself on the armchair opposite you. “Besides, enough with Melissa, she’s the worst.”

Your brows jump in agreement, and you throw him the bottle of antiseptic for his tiger gashes.

Alan holds up the overturned couch cushion adjacent to yours. “Yeah, Doug told me she had sex with a pilot or something like that.”

“Pretty sure it was a sea captain,” you say as he picks up an old slice of pizza.

“It was a _bartender_ on a cruise,” Stu murmurs. “What is wrong with you people? Ew—Alan, did you just eat sofa pizza?”

“Yes.” He moves to the pile of junk between your couches.

Phil rubs his eyes. “What are we gonna do, we are so _fucked_.”

You throw the damp cloth napkin onto the coffee table, the ice clanking against the surface. “I have some money stored away.” You were saving it for a rainy day, and it’s fucking stormy out.

“How much?” Stu asks.

You shake your head. “Not enough.” To meet eighty grand? Fuck. That’s more than you make in _two_ years.

“Hey guys?” Alan says.

Stu straightens. “Did you find it?”

“Nope.” He holds up _The World’s Greatest Blackjack Book_. “But check this out.”

Phil’s expression lightens, like a sun behind parting clouds.

Alan takes lead on hatching a plan. He studies up while Stu reluctantly goes to call Jade, and you help Phil clean his wounds.

You meet him in his en suite. The stool he’s sitting on brings him right to your height, and your eyes meet as he pulls off his shirt to reveal the expanse of his chest.

You swallow and set the first aid kit on the counter, keeping your gaze to the items you take out.

He clears his throat, the stool squeaking as he turns to face the mirror, and you get to work on his neck. Your hands are slow and gentle against his heated skin despite his constant fidgeting.

“Remember the time we went to the Maverick Theater?” His voice bounces off the bathroom walls as you dab him with a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic. He turns his head, and his damp, warm breath hits your face. You lick your lips, and his eyes zero in on them.

“What?” It comes out breathy, and your gazes clash, his bright eyes burning right through you.

“That godawful show with the singing? We snuck in at intermission. This is kinda like that.”

“Shit, I hope not. They kicked us out.” It was back when you first started dating, when your stomach got all fluttery because he held your hand. You’d been friends for a while, and you weren’t used to how physically affectionate he is. Was.

The corner of his mouth lifts. “The sex was hot.” The stage performers barely started singing when Phil got bored and started feeling you up. You resisted for all of two minutes and dragged him into the restroom.

“Until your foot fell in the toilet,” you say with a laugh.

“See?”

You throw the cotton ball into the sink and catch the small smiles in the mirror.

“There were _some_ good times.”

You lift a shoulder. “It was fun in the beginning.” More like wild; he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered to him. It was a potent feeling. It swallowed you whole, and you were drowning but didn’t care so long as he kept touching and looking at you like you were everything.

He tugs you close between his legs, his thumbs rubbing your hips. “We can go back to that.”

“Phil…” You turn away, and your thigh gives a small twinge, as if in protest.

He gently spins you back, and you brace hands on sturdy shoulders. It’s so familiar: his touch, his warmth, his tender, pleading eyes. “Come back to me.” He turns his head, his lips press against your wrist and ignites your skin, flooding you with warmth.

You almost shudder as he trails kisses up the length of your arm. And god, you so badly want to melt into him. Before he can reach the back of your elbow, you cover his wandering mouth with your free hand. He pecks your palm, beautiful blue eyes blinking up at you. You clench your jaw—your heart is thumping so hard inside your chest that you’re afraid if you open your mouth, he’ll hear the echoes of it.

“I’ll do anything. All right? Whatever you want.” He rests his forehead against yours, and your eyes flutter shut. “I promise.” His hands slide up to cup your face, tilting your head a little. His nose brushes against yours. The heat of his breath whispers across your trembling lips.

You can almost taste him.

He smells like… like sharing ice cream along the Santa Monica Pier, with the sound of kids screaming and laughing over the jingly music of amusement rides and games. Like movies in the park in Old Pasadena, cuddled together on a picnic blanket in the cool spring breeze and throwing popcorn into the crowd. Like waking up on a Sunday morning with your face pressed against his neck and his fingers sketching patterns down your naked body, his sleep-croaky voice asking you to marry him.

You grip his forearms, pulling him closer, and his breath stutters.

Your name is a desperate rumble, so deep from his chest that it’s tainted with the remnants of his heart. It forces a responding gasp from you. He grips your hips and your lips collide. He tastes like blood and disinfectant, but you don’t care; you kiss him harder, deeper. Your fingers drive into his hair, curling and pulling. Groaning, he pulls you flush into him, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders. His hands roam your back, fingers digging into you, and pause now and again to push your chest firm against his. His tongue is demanding, claiming, and he leaves you hungry and frantic.

You’ve missed this. You’ve missed _him_. All these months, reaching for him in your sleep, getting glimpses of him when you drop by Doug’s, even this god damn trip and all the times shit got fucked up—with every breath, your body _aches_ with the craving for his touch, his comfort, his kiss. You finally have it.

 _Come back to me_.

Phil moans, wrapping his arms around you. His hips rub against you.

_Anything._

You bury fingers into the hair at the back of his head, tilting his head more, and push your tongue deeper.

_I promise._

And if you just say yes…

No. You can’t.

You rip away, panting, and hold his chest at length as his kiss-swollen lips fall after you.

Pretty words, grand promises. You’ve heard them all before. _You can’t_.

You inhale shakily and drop your gaze. “I have—I have to get ready.” You walk out on wobbly legs and with a chill down your back. Your body yearns, crying out like a bitch in heat. But your heart, it’s full and heavy.

Too heavy.

 

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Alan insists on heading over to the casino from _Rain Man_ , so you make the mile drive down the buzzing boulevard to Riviera’s.

You lead the way down the escalators into the casino. Alan follows, hands clasped against his chest and wearing Stu’s extra suit and an empty expression. Your gaze drifts up to Phil, who’s staring at you with unmasked hunger.

(Damn does he look good. He’s wearing the same black on black suit from last night, but only now do you allow yourself the weakness to appreciate it. You’ve always loved him in black. You’d give anything right now to press your face into his neck. Just to get a whiff of him. Feel his solid warmth.)

You rip your gaze away in time to step off the escalator.

Stu and Jade are already here, loitering nearby and playing the bright-eyed wealthy couple. Phil mutters something about a drink, and you and Alan pretend to be interested in a craps game. About ten minutes later, the three of you approach a blackjack table, and you let Alan do his thing while you both hover and discretely eye the security and pit boss who occasionally prowl by.

Alan takes a seat, and soon after, Stu and Jade take the last two empty ones.

The game kicks off. Alan’s quiet and calculating, Stu and Jade rowdy and enthusiastic. Phil starts off restless but soon gets caught up in the excitement of Alan winning—

“That’s it! Shut up, bitches.”

“Oh, _fuck you_! Fuck you!”

“ _Yes_!”

“Hey, come on. He can’t lose! _He can’t. Lose_.”

—And you? You can’t get your mind off what happened in the en suite.

God, what have you done? You can’t get sucked back into this with Phil. It’s too easy to forget the weight on your shoulders when Phil’s there to help you up every time this god damn city kicks you in the proverbial balls. Neither of you can keep risking your lives just to feel close to each other. When all this ends, there’s still the reality of your broken marriage; the miscommunications, the mistrust, the carnal release as a bandaid for the snowballing emotional wounds and mental strain.

Jade’s high-pitched laughter brings you back just in time to see her fall backward off her stool. She draws everyone’s attention, in particular the security and pit boss already on their way over.

“Let’s go,” Phil hisses, grabbing the stacks of poker chips.

 

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

The dawning air is sharp in your lungs and unforgiving against your skin. Gray whizzes by your window, and you rest your weary head on a propped hand as Stu counts the money and Phil drives out of the bustling city and into the stark desert. It’s a little cold so you grab one of the jackets Phil and Stu threw onto the seat between you and Alan. You drape the fabric over your front and shove your arms through the sleeves.

“… and one hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred. Oh, with all this, that’s eighty-two thousand, four _hundred dollars_!”

Phil pumps his fist, jostling the car. “Oh, god damn it”—he chuckles—“I don’t fuckin’ believe it!”

“Whoo!”

As the two celebrate loudly, the backseat feels more subdued—though that might just be you—as you smile a closed-mouth smile.

“ _Alan_!” Phil shouts. “You’re the man!”

“You are too, Phil.”

They settle down, but there’s still excitement buzzing in the air as Phil says, “We should come back next week, take the whole city down.”

“Oh, I’m free next week,” Alan says.

“Or,” Stu says, “we could just focus on getting Doug back, _right now_.”

“Oh, you know what?” Alan says. “Next week’s no good for me, the Jonas Brothers are in town. But _any_ week after that is totally fine.”

“I think it’s safe to say,” Phil says, “that our luck has officially turned around, guys. We are back, baby. We are _fuckin’_ back!”

“We are back!” Stu twists around to grin at you and playfully rub Alan’s tummy, who returns the favour with a smile of his own. “ _Classic_.” He settles back into his seat and starts warbling, “We are baack—”

“That’s right,” Phil says on a chuckle.

“We are baack! We are getting Doug baack!”

“And we’re the four best friends that anybody can have,” Alan sings, “we’re the four best friends that anyone could have.”

Stu’s grin drops as his gaze meets yours before he slides it over to Phil, who shoots him a _what-the-fuck_ look.

“We’re the four best friends that anyone can have, and we’ll never, ever, ever, ever, ever leave each other.”

You hide your laugh into your hand and fall asleep to that asinine song and the smell of Phil’s cologne.

 

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Phil is on top of the world. Alan just won over eighty grand in one night, and he’s finally getting Doug back—just in time for his wedding. Not to mention he got an honest, intimate moment with you wherein you shared a hot as sin kiss that he can still taste, hours later.

You still love him, and he’s well on his way to getting you back, he can _feel_ it.

Under the steady morning sun, he parks the car in the Mojave Desert several yards from the SUV, head to head. “Now what?”

“Give him the signal,” Alan says in a hushed voice.

He glances back, seeing you fast asleep and wrapped up in one of the jackets. “What signal?”

“Flash your lights. Let him know it’s on.”

He frowns. “What’s on?”

“The deal.”

“Well, of course it’s on. We just drove thirty miles into the desert—he knows it’s on.”

“Phil, just do _something_!” Stu snaps.

“Fine.” He flashes the lights and the SUV doors open. “Oh shit.”

“See?” Alan says.

“All right, let’s go.”

“What about—” Alan gestures to you.

Phil contemplates letting you rest—you’ve all be up for almost twenty-four hours now, it’d be nice if at least one of you could sleep—but you’d want to see Doug, so he nods, letting Alan wake you.

You come to, face adorably pinched and eyes squinting up at Alan, before they widen and you flinch back with a note of alarm.

Phil can’t help but chuckle, and the sound catches your attention. He smiles warmly at you.

You avert your eyes to the windshield where Stu’s facing off with the men alone.

The sunlight is harsh, even through his shades, as he helps you out through the driver’s side, and Alan falls out of the broken window on the other side.

“Funny, fat guy fall on face.” The frilly guy and his right hand man laugh as you both draw to a stop in front of the Mercedes.

Phil tries to spot Doug from inside the SUV.

“You okay?” Stu asks Alan.

“All right.” Phil adjusts his shades. “We got the money. Eighty grand, cash.”

“Throw it over!” the sissy guy says. “Then I give you Doug.”

“Um,” Stu says, “I’m sorry. First of all, good morning! And we didn’t catch your name last night.”

“Mister Chow. Leslie Chow.”

You cross your arms and glare out at them, though Phil doesn’t know if it’s from the sun or because these thugs blackmailed you and held Doug hostage.

“Mister Chow,” Stu says, “it is a pleasure. My name is Stu. And we would very much appreciate an opportunity to… see Doug, before we give you the money, just to verify that he’s okay. Is… If that—If that’s cool.”

Phil nods, shifting as he puts his hands on his hips.

“Of course, Stu. That is cool.” He claps his hand and calls out, and the guy with the goatee pulls Doug out, the pillowcase over his head again.

“Oh, thank god,” Stu mumbles on a chuckle.

Phil feels you slacken beside him. You take a step forward, but he puts a hand to your elbow.

“See, he fine,” Chow says. “Now give me money… or I shoot him, and I shoot _all_ you motherfuckers. And then we take it. Your choice, bitches.”

Phil gestures to his work satchel in Stu’s hand. “Give him the money, Stu.”

“Okay.” He throws it across the space between them, Chow cowering away from it as his right hand man catches it.

The man sifts through it. “It’s all there.”

“Let him go!” Chow flourishes his hand, and the third guy grabs Doug and walks him over with a glower.

“All right, take it easy,” Phil says, holding out a steady hand. “Take it easy.”

The henchman pulls the bag off as Chow says, “Ta-da,” to reveal some black dude with tape over his mouth.

Stu recoils back with a sound of horror as you swear under your breath.

“What—Is this some kind of joke?” Phil takes a step back and gestures to the guy. “ _Who the hell is this_?”

“That’s not Doug,” you say.

“What you talking about, Willis?” Chow shrieks. “That him!”

“No,” Stu says, “I’m sorry, Mister Chow. That’s not our friend, he… That’s…”

The black guy mumbles something at Alan, who calls over, “The Doug we’re looking for is a white.”

The henchman yanks the tape off, and the black guy whips around to Chow. “I told you you had the wrong guy, little boy.”

“Fuck this shit,” you mutter, rubbing your face and turning to Phil. He puts a hand on your shoulder, clenching his teeth.

The guy struggles out of the henchman’s grip and approaches Alan. “Damn, Alan, what the fuck you got me into?”

“Wait, you know him?” Phil asks, glowering at Alan, and he’s _this close_ to fucking losing it.

“Yeah, this is the guy that sold me the bad drugs—How you doin’?”

“I didn’t sell you no fuckin’ bad drugs,” the guy says.

You exhale harshly as Phil’s whole body tenses, and his blood reaches boiling point.

“Wait.” Stu points. “He sold you the Ru—the Ruphylin?”

“Ruphylin?” The guy stutters in confusion.

“Who gives a shit?!” Phil squawks and turns to Chow. “Where is Doug?”

(You and Stu share a look.)

“I _am_ Doug,” the guy says.

“Your name’s Doug?” Alan asks.

“Yeah—Yes, I’m Doug.”

You curl a hand around Phil’s arm, but he shrugs you off and paces forward.

“His name’s Doug too.” Alan chortles. “Classic mix-up.”

“Come on.” Chow walks back to his car.

“Hey, Chow!” Phil motions to Doug. “You gave us the wrong Doug.”

“Not my problem.”

He takes another step forward, gestures swift and sharp as he shouts, “No, _fuck_ that shit—Now, you give us our eighty grand back and take him with you!”

“No, no.” Doug approaches. “Come on, man, I’ll be your Doug.”

Phil scowls at him, and you step between them, urging Phil to take a step back.

“Oh yeah, okay,” Chow says. “Oh, I take him back. Uh, right after you suck on these little Chinese nuts!” He gropes himself with both hands, and Doug recoils and complains. “Mmm. How that sound?” He mimes jerking off with cumming sound effects. “So long, gay boys!” He lifts a hand in a wave and gets into the car.

“Wait a second,” Phil calls. Jesus fucking Christ, he can’t be _lieve_ this bullshit.

You rub your face as the SUV takes off, kicking up the desert dust in its wake. “What the fuck are we supposed to do now?”

Phil paces back and forth as the pure hell of the last twenty four hours settles in the pit of his stomach—it was all for nothing. “ _God damn it_!” He balls his fists and stomps as he hurls them down.

“Gosh darn it!” Alan says.

“ _Shit!_ ” He kicks the dirt and turns as Alan does the same.

“Shoot!”


	9. just get me home

Phil strides over, and you try to keep your face from dragging and shoulders from bunching. His little explosion is not surprising considering he’s been bottling up the setbacks in the last twenty-four hours, nor is it anything new. He’s known to throw tantrums during your fights, but it never fails to get your own heart rate going to see him so vehement—during times of anger or lust.

(Doug was always worried he might hurt you when he gets like this. You used to placate him with a quick smile and a, “Phil would never hurt me.” But looking back on your relationship after you’d walked out, you noticed an increasing amount of rage that had lashed out during your arguments, from both you and him.)

You almost flinch when he tugs you into his arms, catching Stu’s unreadable expression as your own hands rest on Phil’s back. But this is par for the course; Phil gets cuddly after an outburst, as if it’s a salve for his shot nerves from the fire that’s burst out of him.

The edges of his sunglasses dig into the side of your neck as his arms tighten around you. You knead the heel of your palm against the tension in his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, but you don’t know what for: his scene or that Doug is still missing.

You rub his damp back, getting a whiff of sweat and cologne. “Let’s just go back to the hotel.” He nods once but doesn’t make a move to let go.

“I really thought we had ’im.”

You close your eyes. “I know. We’ll call Tracy and tell her everything.”

You all pile into the car, Alan and Not Your Doug squished in the back with you. It’s stifling, both with the desert heat and the residual aggravation from what happened. Alan takes off his jacket and button down, almost elbowing you multiple times, to reveal a ratty white t-shirt. About halfway into the drive, Doug needs to take a piss, so Stu pulls over and the rest of you get out to stretch your legs.

Alan seats himself on the hood of the car—seems redundant to worry about his father’s reaction to the Mercedes now. The late morning sun beats down on you as you lean back against the dented door beside Stu, folding your arms.

Phil crosses the dirt road and pulls out his BlackBerry.

“So…” Stu starts. “Uh, you and Phil?”

“It’s… complicated.” You grimace around the word.

“Isn’t it always? You know, until last night, you two just never really had an honest conversation; you’ve been too busy flinging insults at each other to talk out what was actually bothering you.”

You frown down at the dirt road, shifting to place more weight on your good leg. “We bring out the worst in each other.”

“That’s not how we see it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Doug and I were hoping this trip would find you guys back together.”

“What?” You push off the car and face him properly.

“Oh, unclench.” He rolls his eyes. “Look, I’ve known Phil since we were kids, okay? He was always bouncing from one thing to another, whether it be video games, lovers or careers. But ever since he met you, it’s like he finally slowed down long enough to take a look at his life and wonder about his future. Don’t get me wrong—he’s still impulsive and a pain in my ass sometimes, but… believe it or not, he’s calmer, more focused.

“I don’t know about you but the best thing that’s ever happened to him… is _you_.”

You swallow, glancing out at Phil, on the phone with Tracy.

“And he knows it,” Stu continues quietly. “He’d be stupid to let you go without a fight.” He sighs and says your name, clasping your shoulder. “You’re my friend too. Whatever you decide is best for you, I just want you to be happy.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. You pull him to an impulsive hug. “Thanks. You’re a good friend.”

He chuckles. “You too.”

“I didn’t know you and Phil were together,” Alan says.

You smile, affection swelling your chest for these two, and step back.

“What about the wolf pack? If it comes down to it, I’m siding with Phil.”

Stu chastises him, but you just shake your head.

“Can I borrow your phone?” you ask.

Stu digs in his pocket. “Sure, why?”

“Just checking on something.”

“Thanks for the lift back to town.” Doug ambles over as you pull up a number and type out a quick text.

Stu steps forward. “I got a question for you.”

“Wazzup?”

“How did you wind up in Chow’s car?”

“That crazy asshole kidnapped me yesterday.”

“Okay, but why? I mean, why you?”

You pocket the phone and sidle up to Stu as Doug says, “’Cause he thought I was with you guys ’cause we were hanging over at the Bellagio.”

“What?”

“We were at the Bellagio?” Alan asks.

“Yeah,” Doug says, gesturing, “we were shooting craps—You don’t remember?”

“No,” Stu says. “No, we don’t remember. Because some _dick_ drug dealer sold him Ruphylin and told him it was ecstasy.”

“Ruphylin. There you go with that word. Ruphylin, Ruphylin. What the hell’s a Ruphylin?”

“Wow! You are the world’s _shittiest_ drug dealer. Ruphylin, for your information, is the date rape drug. You sold Alan roofies.”

“Oh shit, I must’a mixed up the bags. My fault, Alan.”

You scoff. Unbelievable.

“ _Damn_ , Marshall gonna be pissed off at me on that one!”

Stu shakes his head and leans back against the car. “What _-ever_.”

“It’s funny ’cause just the other day… me and my boy, we was wondering why they even call ’em roofies. You know what I’m talkin’ ’bout?”

“No. Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ’bout.”

“Why not floories, right? ’Cause when you take ’em you’re more likely to end up on the floor than the roof. What about groundies?” You snort and he grins at you. “That’s a good new name for ’em.”

“Or, how about rapies?” Alan says.

“Wait, what did you just say?” Stu asks.

“Rapies.”

“Not you. Doug, what did you say before?”

“I said groundies.”

“No, before that. You said, ‘You’re more likely to wind up on the floor… than…’” He looks at you as his eyes widen, but you shake your head and hike your shoulders up. He whirls around. “Phil!” He takes off and tackles Phil to the ground.

Well fuck, Stu’s officially lost it.

You jog over, pointing back Alan and Doug. “Stay there.”

They’re in the dirt, Phil’s sputtering and coughing while Stu’s on the phone to Tracy. “He is… paying the bill. We just had a delicious brunch. And uh, we’re in a hurry to get back, so we gotta get going. Okay, we’ll see you soon—bye!” He hangs up and gets to his knees, and Phil shoves him.

“The _fuck_ , man?”

“I know where Doug is!” Stu beams, and as his words register, Phil’s head rocks back.

They just stare at each other with stupid smiles on their faces, so you throw your hands up. “Where?”

 

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You lean forward from the back middle seat and thump Stu’s shoulder as he hits the gas. “Hello?! How do you know where he is?”

“I don’t know, man. It just hit me. You remember when we saw Doug’s mattress impaled on that statue?”

“Yeah,” Phil says in the passenger seat, “it’s because we threw it out the window.”

“No, impossible. You can’t open windows in Vegas hotels.”

“Well, then how did it ge…?” He jerks forward. “Oh my god!”

Stu laughs in triumph, and Phil turns to you with a huge grin.

“Whoa, wait. What’s going on?” Alan mutters as you growl, “I’m gonna stab both of you if—”

“Doug was trying to signal someone,” Stu says.

… He was there the _whole time_?

“Fuck _me_ ,” you say.

“Holy shit,” Phil says on a chuckle.

“Yes,” Stu says.

“Wait,” Phil says. “How did you figure that out?”

“Doug made me realise it.”

“Doug?” you and Phil ask.

“Uh, not our Doug. Black Doug.”

From your right, Doug starts. “Hey, hey—easy with that shit, come on.”

Stu apologises, and Alan’s still confused. “Okay, can someone tell me where _white_ Doug is?”

“He’s on the roof, Alan,” Phil says.

“Yes!” Stu says again. “He’s _on the roof_. We must have taken him up there as a _prank_ so he’d wake up on the roof!”

“It’s like that time in summer camp. Remember—we moved his sleeping bag out in the jetty at the lake?” He ends on a chortle and Stu joins in.

“Which was hilarious—It’s not so funny now, though, because we forgot where we put him.”

You scoff.

“You guys are fuckin’ retarded, you know that?” Doug says.

“Ho-ly shit,” Phil says. “You think he’s still up there?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Stu says.

 

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

As Phil and Stu burst through the rooftop door calling for Doug, you pause long enough to remind Alan to wedge the door open. The air is thick and sun blinding. You’re panting and squinting as you roam the expanse of the room. Your voices clash as you all call out for Doug.

“Hey, guys!” Stu shouts. “He’s over here!”

“Hey, I found him,” Alan yells, “he’s over here!”

You spin, spot Stu kneeled in front of Doug and cover your sweaty face. Thank fuck. _Thank fuck_.

“He’s okay! You’re okay!” Stu laughs, and you make your way over as he helps Doug up. “Oh, we have been looking everywhere for you. He’s alive!”

A tomato-red Doug frowns at you as both Stu and Alan support his arms. “What the _fuck_ is going on?”

Stu checks his watch. “We can explain everything, but right now _we gotta go_.”

“Hey, bud.” Phil braces himself on his knees beside you. “You okay?”

“No.” Doug’s gaze darts around. “Not okay.”

“You look good”—he gestures to his own face—“you got some colour, I’m jealous.”

“I’m getting married today.”

“Yes! You are, tha—and Doug, that’s why you need to focus, you need’a do everything we say”—he glances at his watch—“because, frankly, you-you’re wasting a little bit of time right now.”

Doug’s expression darkens. “You _fuckin’ asshole_!” Your jaw drops as he leaps across and tackles Phil. They barely land with a choked sound before Doug rolls off and starts spasming with his arms pulled tight to his chest. “Oh, my skin burns! My skin burns. Oh, ow! _God_.”

Phil’s trembling breathlessly, and you kneel by their heads, casting a shadow over their pained faces. You wince in sympathy as your hand finds the top of Phil’s head.

“It’s okay,” Alan whispers, hunching over, “it’s not your fault, Doug.”

“Don’t touch me!” Doug whacks his hand away. “Shut up! All of you, shut up.” Between pants, he huffs out, “Just get me home.”

Stu nods with a grimace. “Mm-hmm.”

“Just get me home.”

 

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Back in your suite, Phil calls the on-call doctor, who examines Doug while the rest of you pack your bags. While Phil’s downstairs checking out, and getting a hat, water bottles and aloe vera moisturiser for Doug, Alan piles the bags onto the baggage cart and heads down to the car. You’re supposed to be helping Alan, but Stu’s phone beeps with a text in your pocket, and you hand the phone back to him while he’s distracted with helping Doug change into a robe after a brief cold shower.

On your way down the hotel driveway, you pass Alan leaning against the baggage cart and zoned out. Or at least you think so. Between his beard and oversized sunglasses, it’s hard to get a read on him.

He reaches out. “Hey, I—”

“I’ll be back.”

Concrete garden benches decorate the footpath, and Jade’s sits on the one at the driveway entrance.

You smile as you draw closer. “Hi. Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for texting.” She stands and pecks your cheek before you both sit.

“Sorry,” you say. “I probably smell.” You only managed a quick rinse before heading to the casino last night, and it was hot as balls in the desert, cramped for an hour in that car, so you all smell like ass.

She waves you off, but you suspect she’s just being polite. “So you really don’t remember that night, huh?”

You scrunch your nose. “No.”

“Not even our threesome?”

You splutter. _Three_ —

She laughs, a light tinkling sound. “Kidding!”

Your cheeks are hot. “Jesus.”

“Though we did do a little dirty dancing at the strip club.”

“I actually vaguely remember that.” Two bodies pushed against you, a deep bass pulsing through you. “What happened?”

“Well, Phil was telling everyone about that time you gave him a special dance for his birthday—”

“Oh god!”

“Doug didn’t believe him, so Phil bet you wouldn’t have the guts to do it again but in front of everyone. You climbed on stage, and we started dancing for the boys.”

You drop head into your hand. “Then Phil got up and started grinding against me from behind because he felt left out.”

“I don’t think left out was what he was feeling.”

You snort. “Horny, then.”

“Mm, not that either.” She smiles. “Sweetie, it was so obvious he has a thing for you.”

“We have a history. It’s…” You almost say _complicated_ again, and you want to punch yourself.

“Marriage is the hardest relationship to maintain. Tyler’s father…” She fiddles with the ring on her finger. “There needs to be trust and solid communication. And love. Sometimes all you need is help to nurture and protect your relationship. Other times, if there’s no more fight left, if there’s not enough love, then the best thing for everyone is to walk away.”

You clasp your hands together, pursing your lips. “About Stu…” How do you bring up Melissa, his live-in shrew of a girlfriend?

She shakes her head. “You don’t have to say it.” A sharp intake of breath, and she straightens. “Here he comes.”

Stu’s on the phone while Phil pushes Doug in his wheelchair down the ramp.

“How do I look?” Her voice wavers, and you smile. She’s in a sweet sundress, hair in soft curls.

“Beautiful.”

But god, she could wear a potato sack, and standing next to Stu and his gap-toothed, dirt-coated face and sweat-stained orange button down, she’d still look a hundred bucks.

(Pun not intended.)

You squeeze her hand. “Go get him.”

She winks. “You too.”

You chuckle and make your way back as Stu jogs over.

“We will leave without you,” Phil calls after him.

As you pass each other, you mutter a quick, “Go easy.”

Alan’s laughing about something when you reach them.

“We’re driving back,” Phil tells you.

“Will we make it?” It’s a four hour drive, and that’s not including breaks and getting dressed. “Shit. What about our clothes?”

“Taken care of, don’t worry.”

The valet brings the car around, and you help Doug out of the wheelchair and into the passenger seat while Phil and Alan load the bags into the trunk. Phil retracts the car soft top, but it stutters to a stop halfway back, and Alan starts fussing with it. “It needs to go down.”

“It’s good,” Phil says in the driver’s seat, “all right, get in.”

“No. Safety first!”

You climb in behind Doug.

Phil looks back. “Get in—Alan, it’s fine! It’s down.”

“No, I gotta”—he rounds to your side of the car—“get it down first.”

“Jesus Christ. Look out.” Phil steps over on the seats and starts stomping on the canvas.

“Don’t mess the car up,” Alan says, and it rocks as Phil starts jumping. “You’re gonna mess the car up.”

“You’re kidding, right?” you ask. “Get in already.”

Alan approaches Doug. “Can I ride shotgun?”

You frown. “Leave him alone.”

“No, it’s fine,” Doug says under his wide-brim bucket hat. “Help me.”

You and Phil hold his arms as he steps over into the back. You help him buckle up in the middle seat as Phil returns to the driver’s seat, hoisting himself forward and slapping the windshield, and Alan mimics him from the passenger seat. “Stu!” Phil calls.

“Stu.”

“Come on!”

“Come on!”

Once you’re buckled in yourself, you face forward and are treated to a front-row viewing of Alan’s ass crack. “Oh god.”

Doug turns his head. “Wha—Oh.”

Stu comes back and Phil turns the engine on. “All right, here we go… All right, let's go!”

“Yeah.” Stu’s barely dived into the car when it takes off.

Doug dodges him. “Careful.”

You fill Doug in on what you remember, the guys adding in bits and pieces. Stu also explains that, according to Jade, he pulled out his tooth because Alan bet he wasn’t a good enough dentist to remove his own.

By the time you hit the highway, you, Phil and Doug throw on your sunglasses to protect your eyes against the force of the wind, and it’s hard to hear with the whooshing in your ears, but you hope the breeze abates the stench of body odour.

“At least the trip wasn't a total disaster,” Doug says over the wind.

Alan turns. “What makes you say that?”

“When I woke up on the roof… I happened to find eighty thousand dollars worth of Bellagio chips in my pocket.” He holds up a stack of poker chips.

Phil laughs.

“Oh my god!” Stu says.

“Looks like we’re going home with some money, boys!” Doug grins at you as you bay into the wind, and they all join you, howling and hooting with fists pumped up.

A little while later, honking sounds from behind, and Alan pulls up in his seat. “Here he comes. That van!” A white van pulls up to the driver’s side, and Stu pulls to his knees as well. The side door reading _The Tux Shop_ slides open. “Hey, Nico!”

“Hey. What’s up, Alan?” The blond’s long hair whips out as he throws a brown package to Stu. He glances ahead. “Whoa! Look out!”

You’re steadfast approaching the car in front.

“Whoa! Whoa!”

“Oh, shit,” Phil hisses and swerves sharply to overtake it.

Nico throws two more packages and Stu high-fives him.

“Thanks, Nico!” Alan says.

“You got it, man.”

“Page me!”

“Adiós.”

Phil hits the gas again and you cruise off.

“Who the hell was that guy?” Stu asks.

“That’s my buddy,” Alan says.

The car pulls over at the next emergency stop point, Phil pops the trunk and you all change. Cars honk as they whizz by and you get a few catcalls.

(When you take your top off and your wedding band bounces against your chest, you avoid Phil’s stare.)

Stu passes around his deodorant spray and you milk that sucker against your pits.

You crash into Doug as you hop to get your jeans off your ankle, your sunglasses fall off the top of your head as you try to catch Stu’s button down that flies overhead, and you almost backhand Phil in the face as you squeeze into your wedding garb.

“You’re like a strip hazard,” Stu says, zipping up his trousers with a little bounce.

“Fuck off.”

Phil laughs.

Once you’re all dressed, you jump into the middle seat. Alan lags behind, but that doesn’t stop Phil from rolling the car forward. Stu leans over the back of the car as both he and Doug wave for Alan to hurry. He runs after you pantsless with an arm full of his clothes and a hint of worry etched into his expression.

“Phil,” you shout, and he laughs, slowing down.

When the car exits the highway, you start fixing your hair in the rearview mirror. Your eyes catch Phil’s, who’s doing up his tie. Stu leans back into you as he tries to pull his socks on, pushing you into Doug, who narrowly misses your head with his electric shaver.

Alan offers everyone some face moisturiser and a compact, and you use them to hide the cuts and other blemishes.

The car screeches to a stop in front of the Garner’s house, and you dash to and burst through the front door.

You stumble into Alan as the bridesmaids look up at your panting fivesome.

“Hey!” Stu says. “Sorry, MapQuest took us on a really crazy route.”


	10. that’s classic!

The ceremony drags on a little but don’t they all?

(Except yours. Everything went by in a blur for you. The only thing you remember is how your heart was beating so fast, as if it was trying to keep up with surge of emotions from the beam permanently etched on Phil’s face. And the sex. The hot, clothes-on-need-you-now sex in his childhood bedroom during the reception.)

Otherwise, you have a good time. It’s a gorgeous day out, Tracy is stunning in her dress and Doug is a happy tomato in love. They both are—happy and in love.

They clear the chairs to make room for their first dance, and the wedding band sweeps in with a sweet song about loving each other forever. You find yourself at one of the high tables on the outskirts of the dance floor, arms wrapped around yourself as the shadow of Phil’s body pressed against you eclipses your senses. His cheek pressed against yours as he held your hand to his chest, the both of you gently swaying to Donny Hathaway’s rich timbre.

A waiter fills your vision with a tray of hors devours. You decline, and he flits off to the next table.

The first dance is over, and people are joining the couple on the dance floor as the singer gyrates on an older lady, warbling to 50 Cent’s ‘Candy Shop’.

You feel like you’ve just woken up from a nap and push past the people toward the enclosed patio where the bar is set up.

Someone catches your shoulder.

His handsome face is set in a charming smile as he tilts his head in that endearing way. “Hi. I’m sorry, but I saw you from across the garden and thought you were the hottest—”

You snort, punching Phil’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

He chuckles, running a hand through his messily slick-backed hair, and draws close to avoid getting jostled by the growing crowd. “Can we go somewhere more private?” At your nod, he takes your hand and leads you further into the expansive backyard, and you walk along the vibrant garden hedge. “I’m sorry.”

You pull your hand away and clasp them behind you.

“For accusing you of cheating. I was… I was jealous of how much time you were spending with him.”

“We work together, Phil,” you say quietly.

“I know, I just—I got it into my head—I was… It was stupid. I was wrong and stupid.”

You’re not going to argue there.

But maybe you too had a hand in the demise of your relationship. Maybe Phil was right, in a way, about you being selfish. You were too caught up in self-preservation that you neglected to bother seeing things from his perspective and how your actions hurt him.

The Garner family Labrador bolts past you with giggling kids on its tail. A wave of cheers reach you as the band starts up an upbeat song.

Phil shoves his hands in his pockets and matches your lazy gait. “You know, life sucks.” He’s watching his shoes sink into the lush grass, and if he starts going on a tangent about how much he hates his life—“But it sucks less with you.”

You freeze.

It takes him a couple of paces to stop and turn. The sunlight plays with the ends of his hair, casting a glow about him. And though he did clean up nicely for the ceremony, you much rather like him like this; dishevelled with his loosened tie and top button undone. It reminds you so much of when you’d find him outside your workplace, exhausted and rumpled from a day of teaching but nevertheless waiting for you against his car.

He holds out a hand. You don’t take it but move closer. He sighs, dropping his hand. “I miss you. This weekend, as shit as it’s been, it’s made me realise how much I miss you. I didn’t realise how bad it got between us, but I don’t want a divorce, and whatever it is you think is broken, we can work on it. I jus—I _love_ you.” He falters at whatever he sees on your face. “Do you still love _me_?”

“I do,” you whisper, fingers curling into your palm to resist grabbing hold of him, leaning on him the way you used to when you were stressed or upset.

A tension you hadn’t noticed eases from his face as a splash of a smile plays his mouth.

“But it’s not enough. I need…” What was it that Jade said? There needs to be trust, communication and love. You’ve both made some pretty harmful choices in an attempt to navigate through your relationship unscathed. You need someone to help you and Phil rebuild that solid foundation. Someone who knows how to help.

He brushes the side of your cheek. “What do you need?”

Talking about feelings to each other is one thing but to a stranger… Would he go for it? You lick your lips and push your shoulders back. “I think we should go to therapy.” At his raised brows, you grimace. “Or something.”

He huffs in disbelief, gaze drifting to the reception over your shoulder. “Jesus. A _shrink_ —are you serious?”

You strangle his tie and yank on it. “If we’re doing this again I want us to make it, Phil.”

He closes his eyes. “I know, me too.” He cups the back of your head and presses his lips to your forehead. With a sigh, he pulls back. “I can’t—Don’t make the appointment for after school. I don’t want to spend an hour talking about feelings and shit after dealing with those snot-nosed kids all day.”

The corner of your mouth ticks up. “You want to take time out of the weekend?”

He groans, throwing his head back. “Fuck no.” He drapes an arm around your shoulders and hauls you into his side as he starts walking again. “Okay, how about Monday, after work. Get it out of the way for the week.”

You shrug. It doesn’t matter to you when. You anchor your own arm around his waist and fit your temple against him. You breathe in both him and the flowers and close your eyes as your shoulders droop.

It’s almost scary how easy it is to fall back into things with Phil. You’re far from the way things were before it went to shit, but this here, right now? You fit right into him, and for now you’re okay with pretending for a few more hours that it’s all okay.

“How long have you been wearing that necklace?” he asks, voice uneven with emotion.

You bring a hand to your collarbone and finger the chain through the fabric. “Since I took the band off my finger. It didn’t feel right taking it off… I guess I kept it close as a compromise.”

As you reach a shaded area on the outskirts of the yard, he stops you. Pulling you closer, he nudges your nose with his, as if to reassure the guilty feeling curling in your gut. “I felt the same way.” He digs for his wallet and pulls out his own ring from the inner pocket.

You take his matching simple silver band and roll it between thumb and finger. “I hated being away from you, but I couldn’t—” You lose your breath, and the back of your eyes prick. “The fights—It was _so hard_ , and I just felt… I felt…” _lost._

He shushes you, tucking your head into him. “I know, baby. It’s okay.”

You wrap your arms around him, taking comfort in his warm embrace, breathing him in. Only him.

He presses a staccato of kisses to your head. “Let’s promise something right now.”

You sniffle and meet his earnest eyes.

He tilts his head, smiling gently as his thumb brushes across a cheekbone. “Let’s promise to keep the fighting clean… and the sex dirty.”

You chuckle. “I can get behind that.”

Phil seals it with a quick but hard kiss. His forehead meets yours, and he cups the side of your neck. His sneaky fingers dip to your collarbone, and you gasp, glancing around the empty garden.

“What—”

He pulls your necklace out and makes quick work of unclasping it. Your wedding band falls into his palm, and he pockets the chain. “Gimme your hand.”

Your left hand fits onto his open palm, and he slides the ring back where it belongs and kisses it, his lips warm and sweet.

He holds out his left with an expectant raise of his brows.

Shaking your head, you smile and do the same, pushing his up his left finger. You slip your hands up his chest to cup the back of his neck, toying with the hair there. “You know… we could make the therapy sessions on Fridays after work, bring back Take Out Friday. That way we have something to look forward to after.”

He hums, sliding his hands up your back. “I can live with that.”

You push your chest against his and whisper, “Maybe we can go back to that diner and fuck in the bathroom while we wait for our food.”

He groans. “I fucking love you.”

You’re still laughing when he pulls you into a searing kiss. He backs you into the hedge, its branches rustle and poke you in protest. His mouth blazes down your neck for your weak spot, and you moan quietly, tugging on his hair.

He grunts, thrusting his pelvis against you, and licks your ear. “Let’s find a room in the house, hmm?” His hands circle your hips and squeeze your ass, pressing you deliciously into him. “I want to feel you around me.”

“Later,” you say on a pant. There will be plenty of time for that later, but for now you’re at party with your friends.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

After you let him feel you up some more to tide him over until later tonight, you both head back to the reception party. You lead the way to the patio where Stu and Alan are standing at a high bar table. Phil mutters your favourite drink order. You nod, and he hides a kiss into the shell of your ear, his hand gliding along the small of your back as he continues to the bar.

Alan follows after him. “Need some help, Phil?”

You brace your arms on the yellow table cloth, toying with your ring as you watch him lean against the bar, his jacket stretching under his broad shoulders and lifting to reveal the curve of his ass. You lick your lips. Maybe it was a bad idea to turn down his offer for a quickie. It would get the edge off a little after three months of just your hand.

Across from you, Stu clears his throat, and your face heats up as he grins at you. He opens his mouth, no doubt to start teasing you, but you beat him to it. “Say one word and I’ll punch you.”

He mimes zipping his mouth, but a smile still splits his lips. “Can I just say that I saw this coming? Doug wasn’t so sure, but—Ow!” He rubs his shoulder.

“Actually, _Doctor_ Price,” you say and he raises his brows. “You know any ‘doctors’ of the therapy kind?”

“Couples therapy, huh? I think that’s a good idea, and you know what? An old college buddy of mine is a psychologist. I’ll call him up and see what I can do.” He slaps your right bicep, and you gasp as the tender muscle spasms from where Chow struck you. Stu winces. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry.”

Phil returns, but instead of taking space beside you, he pushes his front against your back. He places your drinks on the table before wrapping his arms around your waist.

Alan hands out a shot each, and you narrow your eyes at him, sniffing the amber liquid.

“It’s tequila,” he says.

“Is that all?”

You feel more than hear Phil’s chuckle. “Come on.” He brings his shot glass to middle of the table. “To Doug and Tracy.”

Four glasses clink together and you all throw it back. Your face pinches as it burns your throat, and Stu grunts, bracing his arms on the table.

“In coming,” Phil mutters just as Melissa storms up, all five feet of bitch and anger.

(You always remember her a lot bigger than she actually is for some reason.)

“Stu?” She throws her hands up. “You avoiding me?”

“Hey.” He smiles. “Melissa.”

“Oh my god! What happened to your tooth?” She grimaces.

You snort and she flicks a glare at you.

“Have you met Alan?” Stu gestures to him. “Tracy’s brother.” Alan holds out a fist. “Brother of the”—Melissa grabs Stu’s face and pulls his lips open—“Okay. Ow.”

“That is disgusting.” She pushes him. “Why haven’t you returned my calls?”

Alan drops his fist and you pat him on the arm. It’s for the best; she’d eat him alive.

Stu glances down at the table, half leaning against it, as if trying to physically shrink to her level. “Well, there was a snafu in—when we stopped—”

“I called that bed and breakfast in Napa. They said they had no _record_ of you even checking in.”

He shuffles his feet. “That’s because we didn’t go to Napa.”

“Stu… what the _fuck_ is going on?!” You jump at the sharp snap in her voice.

“Whoa, okay,” Phil murmurs, moving to step in, but you squeeze his arm because something in Stu’s expression hardens as he pushes up.

“We went to Las Vegas,” Stu says, eyes challenging.

“Oh, really—Las Vegas?” she says, voice rising again.

“Yep.”

“Why would _you_ go to Las Vegas?”

“’Cause my best friend was getting married, and that’s what guys do.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“That's not what _you_ do!” She jabs him in the chest.

“Really?! Well, then why did I do it? Huh? ’Cause I did it! Riddle me that.”

People are starting to look now, including Doug, who glances over from the dance floor.

“Why’d I do it?” Stu continues. “You know, sometimes I think all you want me to do is what _you_ want me to do. Well, I’m sick of doing what you want me to do all the time. I think, in a healthy relationship, sometimes a guy should be able to do what he wants to do.”

“ _That is not how this works_ ,” she screeches, bringing the party to an abrupt halt.

“Oh, good!” Stu shouts back. “Because whatever this is”—he circles her face—“ain’t working for me!”

“Oh, really?” she says on a skeptical chuckle as Phil presses his smile to your head.

“Yeah!”

“ _Since when_?”

“Since you _fucked_ that waiter on your cruise last June. Boom!” He drops a fist on the table and glances over at you.

You grin, flashing him a thumbs up.

“You told me it was a bartender,” Alan says.

Stu twists around, frame loose and tall. “Oh! _You’re_ right—I stand corrected. It was a bartender. You fucked a bartender.”

She drops her hands on her hips. “You’re an idiot.”

“You’re a—You…” He grunts, face scrunching up as he struggles, and you nod slowly, mouthing, _evil_ , _a bitch, Satan’s mistress_. “You’re a—such a _bad person_. Like, all the way through to your core.”

Eh. Good enough.

“Guys!” He taps the table and Alan’s arm. “Shall we dance?” He heads to the dance floor.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Phil says, tugging you along.

Stu whirls an arm over his head. “Let’s do this!” You laugh as he walks right into Doug’s open arms, and the band kicks off with an an upbeat version of ‘I’m Gonna Live Forever’.

Phil crowds you into a group hug, and your boys start dancing. Phil spins you under his arm, and Tracy pulls you aside with a grin.

As the both of you bop to the song, she says, “So I take it something happened in Vegas.”

“You have no fuckin’ idea.”

 

**~ &~**

 

Hours later, you, Phil, Doug and Stu are on the fenced-in outdoor fireplace several feet away, each seated in a circle on upholstered swivel chairs and nursing a drink, enjoying the peace and quiet after a hectic two days. They’ve shucked their jackets, but you threw your own back on to protect against the evening cool air now that the sun is setting. You’re seated across from Doug, but turned toward Phil to your left with your bare feet propped on his lap.

You roll your head to the right. Doug’s admiring his wedding band with a slight smile. “You tell Sid about the Mercedes?” Tracy’s dad called him into his office earlier, and Doug was on pins and needles about revealing the state of the car.

He laughs and it’s almost hysterical. “Didn’t have to. It’s a wedding gift for us.”

Phil chuckles. “No shit? That’s awesome, man.”

“I get to drive it next,” you say.

Phil makes a cut-throat motion as Doug says, “Are you kidding? After I restore it, Tracy and I will be the only ones allowed to drive it.”

You make a noise from the back of your throat. “That’s not fair. I never got to drive it.”

“The answer is still no.”

You grumble. “Whatever.”

Phil takes a sip from his beer, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on the tops of your feet.

“Dougie,” Stu says behind you. “I gotta tell you, man, this was a _gor_ geous wedding.”

“I give it six months,” Phil says.

“You’re a dick,” Stu says as you press a foot against Phil’s crotch.

Biting his bottom lip, Phil grins and traps your foot with a hand.

“I don’t know what to say,” Doug says. “Thanks? For the bachelor party, I guess?”

Stu chuckles. “Yeah. I just wish we could actually remember some of it.”

“Hey, guys?” Alan says. “Look what I found.”

You pull your feet from Phil’s lap and swivel the chair around to Alan standing between Doug and Stu. He’s wearing a smile and his boutonnière hooked over an ear, and holding something in his hand.

“Whoa”—Stu sits up—“that’s my camera.”

“Yeah, it was lodged in the backseat of the car.”

“Oh god,” Phil says. “Are there photos on it?”

“Yeah. Some of it’s even worse than we thought.”

Fuck, that can’t be good. The things you do know are pretty fucked up.

“No fucking way”—Phil reaches for it—“give me that.”

As Alan holds it out, you and Stu stammer in protest.

You pull to your feet and push Phil’s hand away, and he gets you in a loose headlock.

Meanwhile, Doug rises and snatches it. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.” He glances at the reception over his shoulder and back to you. “We look at these pictures together, okay? One time. And then we delete the evidence.”

Stu stands. “I say we delete it right now.”

“Are you nuts?” Phil says as you wrestle out of his hold.

“Dude,” you say, “I wanna know about the cop car.”

“I wanna find out how I wound up in the hospital. Is that in there?”

“Yeah, they’re in there,” Alan says on a snicker.

“Guys.” Doug holds up a finger. “One time. Deal?”

“Deal,” Phil says, staring down at the camera.

“Deal,” you and Stu chorus.

“Okay,” Alan whispers.

Phil hauls you over so you can see. You brace an arm on Doug’s shoulder.

Doug turns it on.

You frown at the image, tilting your head. “What the fuck—?”

“Oh, dear Lord!” Stu shouts, and he and Phil cover their mouths.

“That’s classic!” Alan exclaims.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

(Later tonight, with Phil snoring quietly in your bed and the sheets twisted around his naked body, you plug in your phone. After a quick wash in the shower, the phone powers up. You scour through it to find an hour-long sextape of Phil fucking you in the Mercedes. It’s shadowy and shaky and filthy.

(You move back in with Phil after your first couples therapy session, celebrating with burgers and fries at the retro-themed diner, where you slip into the cramped bathroom and Phil meets you five minutes later. With your pants down and his fly open, he ruts into you against the sink hard and fast, lustful sounds muffled by desperate kisses.

(A month later, you have your first successful and healthy major argument wherein you both take turns clearly communicating your thoughts and feelings, and acknowledging and respecting them. You make up with a kiss, and it’s then you show Phil the sextape. The both of you spend the next hour filming the sequel in your bedroom.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I contemplated whether or not to add in brief descriptions of the photos from the ending credits, but ultimately decided to leave it up to your imagination.
> 
> If you’d like to see the actual photos [here’s the link](http://thehangover.wikia.com/wiki/The_Evidence) [fixed!]. It goes without saying that they’re explicit. If you are curious about what/how some of the things happened, especially with the Reader character involved, hit up the comments section. Maybe we’ll get a cool thread discussion going.
> 
> And before you ask, no I will not be rewriting the sequels. But I do have headcanons about what happens to these guys and the Reader post the first film. If you’d like to know, just ask.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the story. Thanks for reading and engaging with me for those of you who kudosed and/or commented!

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback any time you read it, including:
> 
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